-v  1.91  h       .lannin  -  - 


lh       The  household  of 


Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 

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ra3\  vn 


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DEC    1  2  1925 

1930 


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JAN  5      1942 

or. 


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fiOV  l  o  fit 
APR  1  0  1956 


Ut-  !3L 


TtEC'D 

■ECo  L 

0V2£ 


THE 

HOUSEHOLD 

0F    nib 
SIR  THOs.  MORE. 

BY  THE   AUTHOR   OF   "MARY   POWELL.' 


Ntto  B&itton,  fattf)  an  SLpptitbtx; 


NEW  YORK. 
DODD,    MEAD    &    COMPANT 

Publishers. 


BY   J  HE   SAME  AUTHOR. 

— 1>  — 

I. 

THE  MAIDEN  AND  MARRIED  LIFE  OF  MARY  POWELL 

il 
CHERRY  AND  VIOLET.    A  Tale  of  the  Great  Plague. 

in. 
THE  FAIRE  GOSPELLER.    Mistress  Arme  Askew. 

IV. 

ACQUES  BONNEVAL  ;  or,  the  Days  of  the  Dragonnadfia. 

— o — 
Kach  i  vol.  i6mo     Biautifully  printed  and  bound. 

M.  W.  DODD,  Publisher, 

506  Broadway.  New  York. 


I 

-J 


TO 

WILLIAM   OKE   MANNING, 

THIS   EDITION 

OP 

THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   SIR  THOMAS  MORE 
Is   jBcbttattO, 

IK 

TOKEN    OF    HIS    SISTER'S    TRUE    AFFECTION. 


UBELLUS   A   MARGARETA   MORE, 
QUINDECIM   ANNOS    NATA, 
CHELSEIJ3   INCEPTVS. 


Nulla  Dies  sine  Linca* 


THE   HOUSEHOLD 


SIR    THOs.    MORE. 


Chelsea,  June  \Wi. 
...  On  asking  Mr.  Gunnel  to  what  Use 
I  should  put  this  fayr  Libellus,  he  did  sug- 
gest my  making  it  a  Kinde  of  family  Reg- 
ister, wherein  to  note  the  more  important 
of  our  domestick  Passages,  whether  of  Joy 
or  Griefe — my  Father's  Journies  and  Ab- 
sences— the  Visits  of  learned  Men,  theire 
notable  Sayings,  etc.  "  You  are  ready  at 
the  Pen,  Mistress  Margaret"  he  was  pleas- 
ed to  say,  "  and  I  woulde  humblie  advise 
your  journalling,  in  the  same  fearless  Man- 
ner in  the   which  you  framed  that  letter 


8  Tiie  Household 

which  soe  well  pleased  the  Bis/top  of  Exeter, 
that  he  sent  you  a  Portugal  Piece.  'Twill 
be  well  to  write  it  in  English,  which  'tis 
expedient  for  you  not  altogether  to  neg- 
leckt,  even  for  the  more  honourable  Latin." 

Methinks  I  am  close  upon  Womanhood. 
....  "Humblie  advise,"  quotha!  to  me, 
that  have  so  oft  humblie  sued  for  his  Par- 
don, and  sometimes  in  vayn  ! 

'Tis  well  to  make  trial  of  Gonellus  his 
"humble"  Advice :  albeit,  our  daylie  Course 
e  so  methodicall,  that  'twill  afford  scant 
Subject  for  the  Pen. —  Vitam  coutinet  u)ia 
Dies. 

.  .  .  As  I  traced  the  last  Word,  me- 
thoughte  I  heard  the  well-known  Tones  of 
Erasmus  his  pleasant  Voyce  ;  and,  looking 
forthe  of  my  Lattice,  did  indeede  beholde 
the  deare  little  Man  coming  up  from  the 
River  Side  with  my  Father,  who,  because 
of  the  Heat,  had  given  his  Cloak  to  a  tall 
Stripling  behind  him  to  bear.     I   flew  up 


of  Sir  T/wi    M  *-:.  9 

Stairs,  to  advertise  Mother,  who  was  half 
in  and  half  out  of  her  grogram  Gown,  and 
who  stayed  me  to  clasp  her  Owches  ;  so 
that,  by  the  Time  I  had  follov  ed  her  down 
Stairs,  we  founde  'em  alreadit  '.a.  the  Hall. 

So  soon  as  I  had  kissed  their  Hands, 
and  obtayned  their  Blessings,  the  tall  Lad 
stept  forthe,  and  who  should  he  be  but  Wil- 
liam Roper,  returned  from  my  Father's  Er- 
rand over-seas !  He  hath  grown  hugelie, 
and  looks  mannish  ;  but  his  Manners  are 
worsened  insteade  of  bettered  by  forayn 
Travell ;  for,  insteade  of  his  old  Franknesse, 
he  hung  upon  Hand  till  Father  bade  him 
com'e  forward  ;  and  then,  as  he  went  his 
Rounds,  kissing  one  after  another,  stopt 
short  when  he  came  to  me,  twice  made  as 
though  he  would  have  saluted  me,  and  then 
held  back,  making  me  looke  so  stupid,  that 
I  could  have  boxed  his  Ears  for  his  Payns  : 
'speciallie  as  Father  burst  out  a-laughmg, 
and  cried,  "The  third  Time's  lucky  !" 

After  Supper,  we  tooke  deare  Erasmus 


IO  The  Household 

entirely  over  the  House,  in  a  Kina  or  fam- 
ily Procession,  e'en  from  the  Buttery  and 
Scalding-house  to  our  own  deare  Accidentia, 
with  its  cool  green  Curtain  flapping  in  the 
Evening  Breeze,  and  blowing  aside,  as 
though  on  Purpose  to  give  a  glimpse  of 
the  cleare-shining  Thames !  Erasmus  not- 
ed and  admired  the  stone  Jar,  placed  by 
Mercy  Giggs  on  the  Table,  full  of  blue 
and  yellow  Irises,  scarlet  Tiger-Lilies,  Dog- 
Roses,  Honeysuckles,  Moonwort,  and  Herb- 
Trinity  ;  and  alsoe  our  various  Desks,  each 
in  its  own  little  Retirement, — mine  own,  in 
speciall,  so  pleasantly  situate !  He  protest- 
ed, with  everie  Semblance  of  Sincerity,  he 
had  never  seene  so  pretty  an  Academy.  I 
should  think  not,  indeede!  Bess,  Daisy, 
and  I,  are  of  Opinion,  that  there  is  not  like- 
lie  to  be  such  another  in  the  World.  He 
glanced,  too,  at  the  Books  on  our  Desks  . 
Bessys  being  Livy  ;  Daisys,  Sal  lust ;  and 
mine,  St.  Augustine,  with  Father s  Marks 
where  I  was  to  read,  and  where  desist.    He 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  1 1 

I  side  Erasmus,  laying  his  hand  fondlie  on 
my  Head,  "  Here  is  one  who  knows  what 
is  implied  in  the  Word  Trust."  Dear  Fa- 
ttier, well  I  may  !  He  added,  "  There  was 
/io  Law  against  laughing  in  his  Accidentia, 
for  that  his  Girls  knew  how  to  be  merry 
and  wise." 

From  the  House  to  the  new  Building, 
the  Chapel  and  Gallery,  and  thence  to  visitt 
all  the  dumb  Kinde,  from  the  great  horned 
Owls  to  Cecys  pet  Dormice.  Erasmus  was 
amused  at  some  of  theire  Names,  but 
doubted  whether  Duns  Scotus  and  the  Ven- 
erable Bede  would  have  thoughte  them- 
selves complimented  in  being  made  Name- 
fathers  to  a  couple  of  Owls  ;  though  he 
admitted  that  Argus  and  Juno  were  goode 
Cognomens  for  Peacocks.  Will  Roper  hath 
broughte  Mother  a  pretty  little  forayn  Ani- 
mal, called  a  Marmot,  but  she  said  she  had 
noe  Time  for  such-like  Playthings,  and 
bade  him  give  it  to  his  little  Wife.  Me- 
thinks  I,  being  neare  sixteen,  and  he  close 


12  The  Household 

upon  twenty,  we  are  too  old  for  those  child- 
ish Names  now :  nor  am  I  much  flattered 
at  a  Present  not  intended  for  me ;  however, 
I  shall  be  kind  to  the  little  Creature,  and, 
perhaps,  grow  fond  of  it,  as  'tis  both  harm- 
lesse  and  diverting. 

To  return,  howbeit,  to  Erasmus.  Cecy, 
who  had  hold  of  his  Gown,  and  had  al- 
readie,  through  his  familiar  Kindnesse  and 
her  own  childish  Heedlessness,  somewhat 
transgrest  Bounds,  began  now  in  her 
Mirthe  to  fabricate  a  Dialogue  she  pre- 
tended to  have  over-hearde,  between  Argtis 
and  yuno  as  they  stoode  pearcht  on  a  stone 
Parapet.  Erasmus  was  entertayned  with 
her  Garrulitie  for  a  While,  but  at  length 
gentlie  checkt  her,  with  "  Love  the  Truth, 
little  Mayd,  love  the  Truth  ;  or,  if  thou 
liest,  let  it  be  with  a  Circumstance,"  a 
Qualification  which  made  Mother  stare  and 
Father  laugh.  Sayth  Erasmus,  "  There  is 
no  Harm  in  a  Fabella,  Apologus,  or  Parab- 
ola, so  long  as  its  Character  be  distinctlie 


of  Sir  Tkos.  More.  13 

recognised  for  such,  but  contrariwise,  much 
Goode ;  and  the  same  hath  been  sanction- 
ed, not  only  by  the  wiser  Heads  of  Greece 
and  Rome,  but  by  our  deare  Lord  Himself. 
Therefore,  Cecilie,  whom  I  love  exceed- 
inglie,  be  not  abasht,  Child,  at  my  Reproof, 
for  thy  Dialogue  between  the  two  Pea- 
cocks was  innocent  no  less  than  ingenious, 
till  thou  wouldst  ha\e  insisted  that  they, 
in  sooth,  sayd  Something  like  what  thou 
didst  invent.  Therein  thou  didst  Violence 
to  the  Truth,  which  St.  Paul  hath  typified 
by  a  Girdle,  to  be  worn  next  the  Heart, 
and  that  not  only  confineth  within  due 
Limits,  but  addeth  Strength.  So  now  be 
Friends  :  wert  thou  more  than  eleven,  and 
I  no  Priest,  thou  shouldst  be  my  little 
Wife,  and  darn  my  Hose,  and  make  me 
sweet  Marchpane,  such  as  thou  and  I  love. 
But,  oh  !  this  pretty  Chelsea  /  What  Dais- 
ies !  what  Buttercups  !  what  joviall  Swarms 
of  Gnats  !  The  Country  all  about  is  as  nice 
and  flat  as  Rotterdam." 


14  The  Household 

Anon  we  sit  down  to  rest  and  talk  in 
the  Pavilion. 

Sayth  Erasmus  to  my  Father,  "  I  marvel 
you  have  never  entered  into  the  King's 
Service  in  some  publick  Capacitie,  wherein 
your  Learning  and  Knowledge,  bothe  of 
Men  and  Things,  would  not  onlie  serve  your 
own  Interest,  but  tha*  of  your  Friends  and 
the  Publick." 

Father  smiled  and  made  Answer,  "  I  am 
better  and  happier  as  I  am.  As  for  my 
Friends,  I  alreadie  do  for  them  alle  I  can, 
soe  as  they  can  hardlie  consider  me  in  then: 
Debt ;  and,  for  myself,  the  yielding  to 
theire  Solicitations  that  I  would  putt  my- 
self forward  foi  the  Benefit  of  the  World 
in  generall,  would  be  like  printing  a  Book 
at  Request  of  Friends,  that  the  Publick 
may  be  charmed  with  what,  in  Fact,  it 
values  at  a  Doit.  The  Cardinal!  offered 
me  a  Pension,  as  retaining  Fee  to  the 
King,  a  little  while  back,  but  I  tolde 
him  I  did  not  care  to  be  a  mathematical 


of  Sir  Titos.  More.  15 

Point,  to  have  Position  without  Magni- 
tude." 

Erasmus  laught  and  sayd,  "  I  woulde  not 
have  you  the  Slave  of  anie  King  ;  howbeit, 
you  mighte  assist  him  and  be  useful  to 
him." 

"  The  Change  of  *-he  Word,"  say th  Father, 
"  does  not  alter  the  Matter  ;  I  shoulde  be  a 
Slave,  as  completely  as  if  I  had  a  Collar 
rounde  my  Neck." 

"  But  would  not  increased  Usefulnesse," 
says  Erasmus,  "  make  you  happier  ? '' 

"  Happier  ? "  says  Father,  somewhat  heat- 
ing ;  "  how  can  that  be  compassed  in  a  Way 
so  abhorrent  to  my  Genius  ?  At  present,  I 
live  as  I  will,  to  which  very  few  Courtiers 
can  pretend.  Half-a-dozen  blue-coated 
Serving-men  answer  my  Turn  in  the  House, 
Garden,  Field,  and  on  the  River ;  I  have  a 
few  strong  Horses  for  Work,  none  for 
Show ;  plenty  of  plain  food  for  a  healthy 
Family,  and  enough,  with  a  hearty  Wel- 
come, for  a  Score  of  Guests  that  are  not 


1 6  The  Household 

dainty.  The  Lengthe  of  my  Wife's  Train 
infringeth  not  the  Statute  ;  and,  for  myself, 
I  soe  hate  Bravery,  that  my  Motto  is,  '  Of 
those  whom  you  see  in  Scarlet,  not  one  is 
happy.'  I  have  a  regular  Profession,  which 
supports  my  House,  and  enables  me  to 
promote  Peace  and  Justice ;  I  have  Leis- 
ure to  chat  with  my  Wife,  and  sport  with 
my  Children ;  I  have  Hours  for  Devotion, 
and  Hours  for  Philosophic  and  the  liberall 
Arts,  which  are  absolutelie  medicinall  to 
me,  as  Antidotes  to  the  sharpe  but  con- 
tracted Habitts  of  Mind  engendered  by  the 
Law.  If  there  be  aniething  in  a  Court 
Life  which  can  compensate  for  the  Losse 
of  anie  of  these  Blessings,  deare  Desiderius, 
pray  tell  me  what  it  is,  for  I  confesse  I 
know  not." 

"  You  are  a  comicall  Genius,"  says  Eras- 
mus. 

"  As  for  you,"  retorted  Father,  you  are  at 
your  olde  Trick  of  arguing  on  the  wrong 
Side,  as  you  did  the  firste  Time  we  mett 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  17 

Nay,  don  t  wc  know  you  can  declaime 
backward  and  forwarde  on  the  same  Argu- 
ment, as  you  did  on  the  Venetian  War  ? " 

Erasmus  smiled  quietlie,  and  sayd,  "What 
coulde  I  do  ?  The  Pope  changed  his  holy 
mind."     Whereat  Father  smiled  too. 

"  What  Nonsense  you  learned  Men  some- 
times talk  ! "  pursues  Father.  "  I — wanted 
at  Court,  quotha  !  Fancy  a  dozen  starving 
Men  with  one  roasted  Pig  betweene  them  ; 
— do  you  think  they  would  be  really  glad 
to  see  a  Thirteenth  come  up,  with  an  Eye 
to  a  small  Piece  of  the  Crackling  ?  No  ; 
believe  me,  there  is  none  that  Courtiers  are 
more  sincerelie  respectfull  to  than  the  Man 
who  avows  he  hath  no  Intention  of  attempt- 
ing to  go  Shares  ;  and  e'en  him  they  care 
mighty  little  about,  for  they  love  none  with 
true  Tendernesse  save  themselves." 

"  We  shall  see  you  at  Court  yet,"  says 
Erasmus. 

Sayth  Father,  "Then  I  will  tell  you  in 
what  Guise : — with  a  Fool's  Cap  and  Bells 


1 8  The  Household 

Pish  !  I  won't  aggravate  you,  Cnurcnman 
as  you  are,  by  alluding  to  the  Blessings  I 
have  which  you  have  not ;  and  I  trow  there 
is  as  much  Danger  in  taking  you  for  seri- 
ous when  you  are  onlie  playful  and  ironicall 
as  if  you  were  Plato  himself." 

Sayth  Erasmus,  after  some  Minutes'  Si- 
lence, "I  know  full  well  that  you  holde 
Plato,  in  manie  Instances,  to  be  sporting 
when  I  accept  him  in  very  Deed  and 
Truth.  Speculating  he  often  was  ;  as  a 
brighte,  pure  Flame  must  needs  be  strug- 
gling up,  and,  if  it  findeth  no  upward  Vent, 
come  forthe  of  the  Oven's  Mouth.  He  was 
like  a  Man  shut  into  a  Vault,  running 
hither  and  thither,  with  his  poor,  flickering 
Taper,  agonizing  to  get  forthe,  and  holding 
himself  in  readinesse  to  make  a  Spring  for- 
ward the  Moment  a  Door  should  open. 
But  it  never  did.  '  Not  manie  Wise  are 
called.'  He  had  clomb  a  Hill  in  the  Darke, 
and  stoode  calling  to  his  Companions  below, 
'Come  on,   come  on!   this  Way  lies  the 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  19 

East ;  I  am  avised  '  we  shall  see  the  Sun  rise 
anon.'  But  they  never  did.  What  a  Chris- 
tian he  woulde  have  made  !  Ah  !  he  is  one 
now.  He  and  Socrates — the  Veil  long  re- 
moved from  their  Eyes — are  sitting  at 
Jesus'  Feet.  Sancle  Socrates,  orapro  nobis  /" 

Bessie  and  I  exchanged  Glances  at  this 
so  strange  Ejaculation  ;  but  the  Subjeckt 
was  of  such  Interest,  that  we  listened  with 
deep  Attention  to  what  followed. 

Sayth  Father,  "  Whether  Socrates  were 
what  Plato  painted  him  in  his  Dialogues,  is 
with  me  a  great  Matter  of  Doubte  ;  but  it 
is  not  of  Moment.  When  so  many  Con- 
temporaries collide  distinguish  the  fanci- 
fulle  from  the  fictitious,  Plato's  Object 
coulde  never  have  beene  to  deceive.  There 
is  something  higher  in  Art  than  gross  Imi- 
tation. He  who  attempteth  it  is  always 
the  leaste  successfull ;  and  his  Failure  hath 
the  Odium  of  a  discovered  Lie  ;  whereas, 
to  give  an  avowedlie  fabulous  Narrative  a 
Consistence  within  itselfe  which  permitts 


20  Tht  Household 

the  Reader  to  be,  for  the  Time,  voluntarilie 
deceived,  is  as  artfulle  as  it  is  allowable. 
Were  I  to  construe!:  a  Tale,  I  woulde,  as 
you  sayd  to  Cecy,  lie  with  a  Circumstance, 
but  shoulde  consider  it  noe  Compliment  to 
have  my  Unicorns  and  HippogrifFs  taken 
for  live  Animals.  Amicus  Plato,  amicus 
Socrates,  mag  is  tameu  arnica  Veritas.  Now, 
Plato  had  a  much  higher  Aim  than  to  give 
a  very  Pattern  of  Socrates  his  snub  Nose. 
He  wanted  a  Peg  to  hang  his  Thoughts 
upon " 

"  A  Peg  ?  A  Statue  by  Phidias?  inter- 
rupts Erasmus. 

"  A  Statue  by  Phidias,  to  clothe  in  the 
most  beautiful  Drapery,"  sayth  Father;  "no 
Matter  that  the  Drapery  was  his  own,  he 
wanted  to  show  it  to  the  best  Advantage, 
and  to  the  Honour  rather  than  Prejudice 
of  the  Statue.  And,  having  clothed  the 
same,  he  got  a  Spark  of  Prometheus  his 
Fire,  and  made  the  aforesayd  Statue  walk 
and  talk,  to  the  Glory  of  Gods  and  Men, 


sf  Sir  Thos.  More.  21 

and  i«id  himself  quietlie  down  in  a  Corner. 
By  the  Way,  Desiderius,  why  shouldst  thou 
not  submit!  thy  Subtletie  to  the  Rules  of 
a  Colloquy  ?  Set  Eckius  and  Martin  Luth- 
er by  the  Ears  !  Ha  !  Man,  what  Sport ! 
Heavens !  if  I  were  to  compound  a  Tale 
or  a  Dialogue,  what  Crotchets  and  Quips 
of  mine  own  woulde  I  not  putt  into  my 
Puppets'  Mouths !  and  then  have  out  my 
Laugh  behind  my  Vizard,  as  when  we  used 
to  act  Burlesques  before  Cardinall  Morton. 
What  rare  Sporte  we  had,  one  Christmas, 
with  a  Mummery  we  called  the  '  Triaii  of 
Feasting ! '  Dinner  and  Suffer  were 
brough'te  up  before  my  Lord  Chief  Jus- 
tice, charged  with  Murder.  Theire  Accom- 
plices were  Plum-pudding,  Mince-pye,  Sur- 
feit, Drunkenness,  and  suchlike.  Being 
condemned  to  hang  by  the  Neck,  I,  who 
was  Supper,  stuft  out  with  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  manie  Pillows,  began  to  call  lust- 
ilie  for  a  Confessor  ;  and,  on  his  stepping 
forthe,   commenct  a  List  of  ail   the  Fitts. 


22  The  Household 

Convulsions,  Spasms,  Payns  in  the  Head 
and  so  forthe,  I  had  inflicted  on  this  one 
and  t'other.  'Alas!  good  Father,'  says  L 
'  King  John  layd  his  Death  at  my  Door  ; — 
indeede,  there's  scarce  a  royall  or  noble 
House  that  hath  not  a  Charge  agaynst  me ; 
and  I'm  sorelie  afrayd'  (giving  a  Poke  at  a 
fat  Priest  that  sate  at  my  Lord  Cardinal? s 
Elbow)  '  I  shall  have  the  Death  of  that 
holy  Man  to  answer  for.'" 

Erasmus  laughed,  and  sayd,  "  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  of  the  Retort  of  Willibald  Pirk- 
heimer  ?  A  Monk,  hearing  him  praise  me 
somewhat  lavishly  to  another,  could  not 
avoid  expressing  by  his  Looks  great  Dis- 
gust and  Dissatisfaction  ;  and,  on  being 
askt  whence  they  arose,  confest  he  could 
not,  with  Patience,  heare  the  Commenda- 
tion of  a  Man  soe  notoriously  fond  of  eat- 
ing Fowls  '  Does  he  steal  them  ? '  says 
Pirkheimer.  '  Surely  no,'  says  the  Monk. 
'  Why,  then,'  quoth  Willibald,  '  I  know  of 
a  Fox  who  is  ten  r-mes  the  greater  Rogue  ; 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More  23 

tor,  look  you,  he  helps  himself  to  many  a 
fat  Hen  from  my  Roost  without  ever  offer- 
ing to  pay  me.  But  tell  me  now,  dear 
Father,  is  it  then  a  Sin  to  eat  Fowls  ? ' 
'  Most  assuredlie  it  is,'  says  the  Monk,  '  if 
you  indulge  in  them  to  Gluttony.'  'Ah! 
if,  if!'  quoth  Pirkkeimer.  'If  stands  stiff, 
as  the  Lacedemonians  told  PJiilip  of  Mace- 
don ;  and  'tis  not  by  eating  Bread  alone, 
my  dear  Father,  you  have  acquired  that 
huge  Paunch  of  yours.  I  fancy,  if  all  the 
fat  Fowls  that  have  gone  into  it  could  raise 
theire  Voices  and  cackle  at  once,  they 
woulde  make  Noise  enow  to  drown  the 
Drum's  and  Trumpets  of  an  Army.'  Well 
may  Luther  say,"  continued  Erasmus, 
laughing,  "  that  theire  fasting  is  easier  to 
them  than  our  eating  to  us  ;  seeing  that 
every  Man  Jack  of  them  hath  to  his  Even- 
ing Meal  two  Quarts  of  Beer,  a  Quart  of 
Wine,  and  as  manie  as  he  can  eat  of  Spice 
Cakes,  the  better  to  relish  his  Drink. 
While   I    .    .    ,  'tis   true  my    Stomach   is 


24  The  Household 

Lutheran,  but  my  Heart  is  Catholic ;  that's 
as  Heaven  made  me,  and  I'll  be  judged  by 
you  alle,  whether  I  am  not  as  thin  as  a 
Weasel." 

'Twas  now  growing  dusk,  and  Cecy's 
tame  Hares  were  just  beginning  to  be  on 
the  alert,  skipping  across  our  Path,  as  we 
returned  towards  the  House,  jumping  over 
one  another,  and  raysing  'emselves  on 
theire  hind  Legs  to  solicitt  our  Notice. 
Erasmus  was  amused  at  theire  Gambols, 
and  at  our  making  them  beg  for  Vine- 
tendrils  ;  and  Father  told  him  there  was 
hardlie  a  Member  of  the  Householde  who 
had  not  a  dumb  Pet  of  some  Sort.  "  I  en- 
courage the  Taste  in  them,"  he  sayd,  "  not 
onlie  because  it  fosters  Humanitie  and 
affords  harmless  Recreation,  but  because 
it  promotes  Habitts  of  Forethoughte  and 
Regularitie.  No  Child  or  Servant  of  mine 
bath  Liberty  to  adopt  a  Pet  which  he  is 
too  lazy  or  nice  to  attend  to  himself.  A 
little    Management    may    enable    even  a 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  25 

young  Gentlewoman  to  do  this,  without 
soyling  her  Hands  ;  and  to  negleckt  giv- 
ing them  proper  Food  at  proper  Times 
entayls  a  Disgrace  of  which  everie  one  of 
'em  would  be  ashamed.  But,  hark  !  there 
is  the  Vesper-bell." 

As  we  passed  under  a  Pear-tree,  Eras- 
mus told  us,  with  much  Drollerie,  of  a 
Piece  of  boyish  Mischief  of  his, — the  Theft 
of  some  Pears  off  a  particular  Tree,  the 
Fruit  of  which  the  Superior  of  his  Con- 
vent had  meant  to  reserve  to  himself.  One 
Morning,  Erasmus  had  climbed  the  Tree, 
and  was  feasting  to  his  great  Content, 
when'  he  was  aware  of  the  Superior  ap- 
proaching to  catch  him  in  the  FacT: :  soe, 
quickly  slid  down  to  the  Ground,  and  made 
off  in  the  opposite  Direction,  limping  as 
he  went.  The  Malice  of  this  Act  con- 
sisted in  its  being  the  Counterfeit  of  the 
Gait  of  a  poor  lame  Lay  Brother,  who  was, 
in  fa<5t,  smartlie  punisht  for  Erasmus  his 
Misdeede.      Our    Friend   mentioned   this 


z(5  The  Household 

with  a  Kinde  of  Remorse,  and  observed  to 
my  Father, — "  Men  laugh  at  the  Sins  of 
young  People  and  little  Children,  as  if  they 
were  little  Sins  ;  albeit,  the  Robbery  of  an 
Apple  or  Cherry-orchard  is  as  much  a 
breaking  of  the  Eighth  Commandment  as 
the  stealing  of  a  Leg  of  Mutton  from  a 
Butcher's  Stall,  and  ofttimes  with  far  less 
Excuse.  Our  Church  tells  us,  indeede,  of 
Venial  Sins,  such  as  the  Theft  of  an  Apple 
or  a  Pin  ;  but,  I  think,"  (looking  hard  at 
Cecilie  and  Jack?)  "  even  the  youngest 
among  us  could  tell  how  much  Sin  and 
Sorrow  was  brought  into  the  World  by 
stealing  an  Apple." 

At  Bedtime,  Bess  and  I  did  agree  in 
wishing  that  alle  learned  Men  were  as  apt 
to  unite  Pleasure  with  Profit  in  theire  Talk 
as  Erasmus.  There  be  some  that  can 
write  after  the  Fashion  of  Paul,  and  others 
preach  like  unto  Apollos ;  but  this,  me- 
thinketh,  is  scattering  Seed  by  the  Way* 
side,  like  the  Great  Sower. 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  27 

Tuesday. 
Tis  singular,  the  Love  that  Jack  and 
Cecy  have  for  one  another  ;  it  resembleth 
that  of  Twins.  Jack  is  not  forward  at  his 
Booke  ;  on  the  other  Hand,  he  hath  a  Reso- 
lution of  Character  which  Cecy  altogether 
wants.  Last  Night,  when  Erasmus  spake 
of  Children's  Sins,  I  observed  her  squeeze 
Jack's  Hand  with  alle  her  Mighte.  I  know 
what  she  was  thinking  of.  Having  bothe 
beene  forbidden  to  approach  a  favourite 
Part  of  the  River  Bank  which  had  given 
way  from  too  much  Use,  one  or  the  other 
of  'em  transgressed,  as  was  proven  by  the 
smalle'  Footprints  in  the  Mud,  as  well  as 
by  a  Nosegay  of  Flowers,  that  grow  not, 
save  by  the  River;  to  wit,  Purple  Loose- 
strife, Cream-and-codlins,  Scorpion-grass, 
Water  Plantain,  and  the  like.  Neither  of 
'em  woulde  confesse,  and  Jack  was,  there- 
fore, sentenced  to  be  whipt.  As  he  walk- 
ed off  with  Mr.  Drew,  I  observed  Cecy 
turn  soe  pale,  that   I   whispered  Father  I 


28  The  Household 

was  certayn  she  was  guilty,  lii.  aiade 
Answer,  "  Never  mind,  we  cannot  beat  a 
Girl,  and  'twill  answer  the  same  purpose  ; 
in  flogging  him,  we  flog  both."  yack  bore 
the  firste  Stripe  or  two,  I  suppose,  well 
enow,  but  at  lengthe  we  hearde  him  cry 
out,  on  which  Cecy  coulde  not  forbeare  to 
doe  the  same,  and  then  stopt  bothe  her 
Ears.  I  expected  everie  Moment  to  heare 
her  say,  "  Father,  'twas  I  ; "  but  no,  she 
had  not  Courage  for  that ;  onlie,  wher 
Jack  came  forthe  all  smirched  with  Tears, 
she  put  her  Arm  about  his  Neck,  and  they 
walked  off  together  into  the  Nuttery. 
Since  that  Hour,  she  hath  beene  more 
devoted  to  him  than  ever,  if  possible  ;  and 
he,  Boy-like,  finds  Satisfaction  in  making 
her  his  little  Slave.  But  the  Beauty  lay 
in  my  Father's  Improvement  of  the  Cir- 
cumstance. Taking  Cecy  on  his  Knee  that 
Evening,  (for  she  was  not  ostensiblie  in 
Disgrace,)  he  beganne  to  ta'k  of  Atone- 
ment and  Mediation  for  Sin    and  who  it 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  29 

was  that  bare  our  Sins  for  us  on  the  Tree. 
'  Tis  thus  he  turns  the  daylie  Accidents  of 
our  quiet  Lives  into  Lessons  of  deepe  Im- 
port, not  Pedanticallie  delivered,  ex  cathe- 
dra, but  welling  forth e  from  a  full  and 
fresh  Mind. 

This  Morn  I  had  risen  before  Dawn,  be- 
ing minded  to  meditate  on  sundrie  Matters 
before  Bess  was  up  and  doing,  she  being 
given  to  much  Talk  during  her  dressing, 
and  made  my  Way  to  the  Pavilion,  where, 
methought,  I  should  be  quiet  enow ;  but, 
beholde !  FatJier  and  Erasmus  were  there 
before  me,  in  fluent  and  earneste  Dis- 
course.' I  would  have  withdrawn e,  but 
Father,  without  interrupting  his  Sentence, 
puts  his  Arm  rounde  me,  and  draweth  me  to 
him  ;  soe  there  I  sit,  my  Head  on's  Shoul- 
der, and  mine  Eyes  on  Erasmus  his  Face. 

From  much  they  spake,  and  othermuch 
I  guessed,  they  had  beene  conversing  on 
the  present  State  of  the  Church,  and  how 
greatlie  it  needed  Renovation. 


30  The  Household 

Erasmus  sayd,  the  Vices  of  the  Clergy 
and  Ignorance  of  the  Vulgar  had  now 
come  to  a  Poynt,  at  the  wnich  a  Remedie 
must  be  founde,  or  the  whole  Fabric  would 
falle  to  Pieces. 

— Sayd,  the  Revival  of  Learning  seemed 
appoynted  by  Heaven  for  some  greate  Pur- 
pose, 'twas  difficulte  to  say  how  greate. 

— Spake  of  the  new  Art  of  Printing,  and 
its  possible  Consequents. 

— Of  the  aclive  and  fertile  Minds  at 
present  turning  up  new  Ground,  and  fer- 
reting out  old  Abuses. 

— Of  the  Abuse  of  Monachism,  and  of 
the  evil  Lives  of  Conventualls.  In  special, 
of  the  Fanaticism  and  Hypocrisie  of  the 
Dominicans. 

— Considered  the  Evills  of  the  Times 
such,  as  that  Societie  must  shortlie,  by  a 
vigorous  Effort,  shake  'em  off. 

— Wondered  at  the  Patience  of  the 
Laitie  for  soe  many  Generations,  but 
thoughte    'em    now    waking    from    theire 


rf  Sir  Thos.  More.  3 1 

Slccpc.  The  People  had  of  late  begunnc 
to  know  theire  physickall  Power,  and  to 
chafe  at  the  Weighte  of  theire  Yoke. 

— Thoughte  the  Doctrine  of  Indulgences 
altogether  bad  and  false. 

Father  sayd,  that  the  graduallie  increast 
Severitie  of  Church  Discipline  concerning 
minor  Offences  had  become  such  as  to 
render  Indulgences  the  needfulle  Remedie 
for  Burthens  too  heavie  to  be  borne. — Con- 
demned a  Draconic  Code,  that  visitted 
even  Sins  of  Discipline  with  the  extream 
Penaltie.  Quoted  how  ill  such  excessive 
Severitie  answered  in  our  owne  Land,  with 
regard' to  the  Civill  Law;  twenty  Thieves 
oft  hanging  together  on  the  same  Gibbet, 
yet  Robberie  no  Whit  abated. 

Othermuch  to  same  Purport,  the  which, 
if  alle  set  downe,  woulde  too  soon  fill  my 
Libcllus.  At  length,  unwillinglie  brake 
off,  when  the  Bell  rang  us  to  Matins. 

At  Breakfaste,  William  and  Rupert  were 
earneste   with   mv  Father   to   let  'em  row 


$2  The  Household 

rJm  to  Westminster,  which  he  was  disin- 
clined to,  as  he  was  for  more  Speede,  and 
had  promised  Erasmus  an  earlie  Caste  to 
Lambeth;  howbeit,  he  consented  that  they 
should  pull  us  up  to  Putney  in  the  Even- 
ing, and  William  should  have  the  Stroke- 
oar.  Erasmus  sayd,  he  must  thank  the 
Archbishop  for  his  Present  of  a  Horse ; 
"tho'  I'm  full  faine,"  he  observed,  "to 
believe  it  a  Changeling.  He  is  idle  and 
gluttonish,  as  thin  as  a  wasp,  and  as  ugly 
as  Sin.    Such  a  Horse,  and  such  a  Rider!" 

In  the  Evening  Will  and  Rupert  had 
made  'emselves  spruce  enow,  with  Nose- 
gays and  Ribbons,  and  we  tooke  Water 
bravelie  ; — John  Harris  in  the  Stern,  play- 
ing the  Recorder.  We  had  the  six-oared 
Barge  ;  and  when  Rupert  Allington  was 
tired  of  pulling,  Mr.  Clement  tooke  his 
Oar ;  and  when  he  wearied,  John  Harris 
gave  over  playing  the  pipe  ;  but  William 
and  Mr.  Gunnel  never  flagged. 

Erasmus  was  full  of  his  Visitt  to  the 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  3 1 

Archbishop,  who,  as  usuall,  I  think,  had 
given  him  some  Money. 

"  We  sate  down  two  Hundred  to  1  able," 
sayth  he ;  "  there  was  Fish,  Flesh,  and 
Fowl ;  but  Warcham  onlie  played  with  his 
Knife,  and  drank  noe  Wine.  He  was  very 
cheerfulle  and  accessible ;  he  knows  not 
what  Pride  is  :  and  yet  of  how  much  mights 
he  be  proude  !  What  Genius  !  what  Erudi- 
tion !  what  Kindnesse  and  Modesty  !  From 
IVareham,  who  ever  departed  in  sorrow  ?  " 

Landing  at  Fulham,  we  had  a  brave 
Ramble  thro'  the  Meadows.  Erasmus,  not- 
ing the  poor  Children  a  gathering  the  Dan- 
delion and  Milk-thistle  for  the  Herb-market, 
was  avised  to  speak  of  forayn  Herbes  and 
theire  Uses,  bothe  for  Food  and  Medicine. 

"  For  me,"  says  Father,  "  there  is  manie 
a  Plant  I  entertayn  in  my  Garden  and  Pad- 
dock which  the  Fastidious  woulde  cast 
forthe.  I  like  to  teache  my  Children  the 
Uses  of  common  Things — to  know,  for  In- 
stance, the  Uses  of  the  Flowers  and  Weeda 

3 


34  The  House  J  told 

that  grow  in  our  Fields  and  Hedges.  Manic 
a  poor  Knave's  Pottage  would  be  improved, 
if  he  were  skilled  in  the  Properties  of  the 
Burdock  and  Purple  Orchis,  Lady's-smock, 
Brook-lime,  and  Old  Man's  Pepper.  The 
Roots  of  Wild  Succory  and  Water  Arrow- 
head mighte  agreeablie  change  his  Lenten 
Diet  ;  and  Glasswort  afford  him  a  Pickle 
for  his  Mouthfulle  of  Salt-meat.  Then, 
there  arc  Cresses  and  Wood-sorrel  to  his 
Breakfast,  and  Salep  for  his  hot  evening 
Mess.  For  his  Medicine,  there  is  Herb- 
twopence,  that  will  cure  a  hundred  Ills  ; 
Camomile,  to  lull  a  raging  Tooth  ;  and  the 
Juice  of  Buttercup  to  clear  his  Head  by 
sneezing.  Vervain  cureth  Ague  ;  and 
Crowfoot  affords  the  leaste  painfulle  of 
Blisters.  St.  Anthony  s  Turnip  is  an  Emet- 
ic ;  Goose-grass  sweetens  the  Blood ;  Wood- 
luffe  is  good  for  the  Liver ;  and  Bindweed 
hath  nigh  as  much  Virtue  as  the  forayn 
Scammony.  Pimpernel  promoteth  Laugh- 
ter ;    and    Poppy,    Sleep ;    Thyme    giveth 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  35 

pleasant  Dreams  ;  and  an  Ashen  Branch 
drives  evil  Spirits  from  the  Pillow.  As  for 
Rosemarie,  I  lett  it  run  alle  over  my  Garden 
Walls,  not  onlie  because  my  Bees  love  it, 
but  because  'tis  the  Herb  sacred  to  Remem- 
brance, and,  therefore,  to  Friendship,  whence 
a  Sprig  of  it  hath  a  dumb  Language  that 
maketh  it  the  chosen  Emblem  at  our  Fu- 
neral Wakes,  and  in  our  Buriall  Grounds. 
Howbeit,  I  am  a  School-boy  prating  in 
Presence  of  his  Master,  for  here  is  John 
Clement  at  my  Elbow,  who  is  the  best  Bot- 
anist and  Herbalist  of  us  all." 

— Returning  Home,  the  Youths  being 
warmed 'with  rowing,  and  in  high  Spirits, 
did  entertayn  themselves  and  us  with  manie 
Jests  and  Playings  upon  Words,  some  of 
'em  forced  enow,  yet  provocative  of  Laugh- 
ing. Afterwards,  Mr.  Gunnel  proposed 
Enigmas  and  curious  Questions.  Among 
others,  he  woulde  know  which  of  the  famous 
Women  of  Greece  or  Rome  we  .  Maidens 
would    resemble.     Bess   was   for   Cornelia. 


36  The  Household 

Daisy  for  Clelia,  but  I  for  Damo,  Daugh- 
ter of  Pythagoras,  which  William  Roper 
deemed  stupid  enow,  and  thoughte  I  mighte 
have  found  as  good  a  Daughter,  that  had 
not  died  a  Maid.  Sayth  Erasmus,  with  his 
sweet,  inexpressible  Smile,  "  Now  I  will 
tell  you,  Lads  and  Lasses,  what  Manner  of 
Man  /  woulde  be,  if  I  were  not  Erasmus. 
I -woulde  step  back  some  few  Years  of  my 
Life,  and  be  half-way  'twixt  thirty  and 
forty ;  I  woulde  be  pious  and  profounde 
enow  for  the  Church,  albeit  noe  Church- 
man ;  I  would  have  a  blythe,  stirring  Eng- 
lish Wife,  and  half-a-dozen  merrie  Girls 
and  Boys  ;  an  English  Homestead,  neither 
Hall  nor  Farm,  but  betweene  both  ;  neare 
enow  to  the  Citie  for  Convenience,  but 
away  from  its  Noise.  I  woulde  have  a 
Profession,  that  gave  me  some  Hours  daylie 
of  regular  Businesse,  that  should  let  Men 
know  my  Parts,  and  court  me  into  Publick 
Station,  from  which  my  Taste  made  me 
rather  withdrawe.     I  woulde  have  such  a 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  37 

private  Independence,  as  should  enable  me 
to  give  and  lend,  rather  than  beg  and  bor- 
row. I  woulde  encourage  Mirthe  without 
Buffoonerie,  Ease  without  Negligence ;  my 
Habitt  and  Table  shoulde  be  simple  ;  and 
for  my  Looks,  I  woulde  be  neither  tall  nor 
short,  fat  nor  lean,  rubicund  nor  sallow  ; 
bu  of  a  fayr  Skin  with  blue  Eyes,  brownish 
Beard,  and  a  Countenance  engaging  and 
attractive,  soe  that  alle  of  my  Companie 
coulde  not  choose  but  love  me." 

"  Why,  then,  you  woulde  be  Father  him- 
selfe!"  cries  Cecy,  clasping  his  Arm  in 
bothe  her  Hands  with  a  Kind  of  Rapture  ; 
and,  indeede,  the  Portraiture  was  soe  like,  we 
coulde  not  but  smile  at  the  Resemblance. 

Arrived  at  the  Landing,  Father  protested 
he  was  wearie  with  his  Ramble  ;  and,  his 
Foot  slipping,  he  wrenched  his  Ankle,  and 
sate  for  an  Instante  on  a  Barrow,  the  which 
one  of  the  Men  had  left  with  his  Garden- 
tools,  and  before  he  coulde  rise  or  cry  out, 
William,    laughing,  rolled  him  up  to  the 


38  The  Household 

House-door  ;  which,  considering  Fathers 
Weight,  was  much  for  a  Stripling  to  doe. 
Father  sayd  the  same,  and,  laying  his  Hand 
on  Wilts  Shoulder  with  Kindnesse,  cried, 
"  Bless  thee,  my  boy,  but  I  woulde  not 
have  thee  overstrayned,  like  Biton  and 
Clitobus" 

"June  20th. 

This  Morn,  hinting  to  Bess  that  she  was 
lacing  herselfe  too  straitlie,  she  brisklie  re- 
plyed,  "  One  woulde  think  'twere  as  great 
Meritt  to  have  a  thick  Waiste  as  to  be  one 
of  the  earlie  Christians  ! " 

These  humourous  Retorts  are  ever  at  her 
Tongue's  End  ;  and  albeit,  as  yacky  one 
Day  angrilie  remarked,  when  she  had  beene 
teazing  him,  "Bess,  thy  Witt  is  Stupid- 
nesse  ; "  yet,  for  one  who  talks  soe  much 
at  Random,  no  one  can  be  more  keene 
when  she  chooseth.  Father  sayd  of  her, 
half  fondly,  half  apologeticallie,  to  Erasmus, 
"  Her  Witt  hath  a  fine  Subtletie  that  eludes 
you  almoste  before  you  have  Time  to  re- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  39 

cognize  it  for  what  it  really  is."  To  which 
Erasmus  readilie  assented,  adding,  that  it 
had  the  rare  Meritt  of  playing  less  on  Per- 
sons than  Things,  and  never  on  bodilie 
Defects. 

Hum ! — I  wonder  if  they  ever  sayd  as 
much  in  Favour  of  me.  I  know,  indeede, 
Erasmus  calls  me  a  forward  Girl.  Alas ! 
that  may  be  taken  in  two  Senses. 

Grievous  Work,  overnighte,  with  the 
churning.  Nought  would  persuade  Gillian 
but  that  the  Creame  was  bewitched  by 
Gammer  Gurney,  who  was  dissatisfyde  laste 
Friday  with  her  Dole,  and  hobbled  away 
mumping  and  cursing.  At  alle  Events, 
the  Butter  woulde  not  come ;  but  Mother 
was  resolute  not  to  have  soe  much  good 
Creame  wasted,  soe  sent  for  Bess  and  me, 
Daisy,  and  Mercy  Giggs,  and  insisted  on 
our  churning  in  turn  till  the  Butter  came, 
if  we  sate  up  alle  Night  for 't.  'Twas  a 
hard  Saying,  and  mighte  have  hampered 
her  like  as  yephtha  his  rash  Vow.  Howbeit, 


40  The  Household 

soe  soone  as  she  had  left  us,  we  turned  it 
into  a  Frolick,  and  sang  Chevy  Chase  from 
End  to  End,  to  beguile  Time:  ne'erthe- 
lesse,  the  Butter  woulde  not  come ;  soe 
then  we  grew  sober,  and,  at  the  Instance  of 
sweete  Mercy,  chaunted  the  119th  Psalme ; 
and,  by  the  Time  we  had  attained  to  "  Lu- 
cema  Pedibus,"  I  hearde  the  Buttermilk 
separating  and  splashing  in  righte  earneste 
'Twas  neare  Midnighte,  however,  and  Daisy 
had  fallen  asleep  on  the  Dresser.  Gillian 
will  ne'er  be  convinced  but  that  our  Latin 
brake  the  Spell. 

June  21st. 
Erasmus  went  to  Richmond 'this  Morning 
with  Polus,  (for  soe  he  Latinizes  Reginald 
Pole,  after  his  usual  Fashion,)  and  some 
other  of  his  Friends.  On  his  Return,  he 
made  us  laugh  at  the  following.  They  had 
clomb  the  Hill,  and  were  admiring  the 
Prospect,  when  Pole,  casting  his  Eyes  aloft, 
and  beginning  to  make  sundrie  Gesticula- 
tions, exclaimed,  "What,  is  it  I  beholde? 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  41 

May  Heaven  avert  the  Omen  ! "  with  such- 
like Exclamations,  which  raised  the  Curi- 
ositie  of  alle.  "  Don't  you  beholde,"  cries 
he,  "  that  enormous  Dragon  flying  through 
the  Sky  ?  his  Horns  of  Fire  ?  his  curly  Tail  ? " 

"  No,"  says  Erasmus,  "  nothing  like  it. 
The  Sky  is  as  cleare  as  unwritten  Paper." 

Howbeit,  he  continued  to  affirme  and  to 
stare,  untill  at  lengthe,  one  after  another, 
by  dint  of  strayning  theire  Eyes  and  theire 
Imaginations,  did  admitt  first,  that  they 
saw  Something ;  next,  that  it  mighte  be  a 
Dragon  ;  and  last,  that  it  was.  Of  course, 
on  theire  Passage  homeward,  they  could 
talk  of  little  else — some  made  serious  Re- 
flections ;  others,  philosophicall  Specula- 
tions ;  and  Pole  waggishly  triumphed  in 
having  beene  the  Firste  to  discerne  the 
Spectacle. 

"  And  you  trulie  believe  there  was  a 
Signe  in  the  Heavens  ? "  we  enquired  of 
Erasmus. 

"  What  know  I  ? "  returned  he,  smiling ; 


42  The  Household 

"  you  know,  Constantine  saw  a  Cross.  Why 
shoulde  Polus  not  see  a  Dragon  ?  We 
must  judge  by  the  Event.  Perhaps  its 
Mission  may  be  to  fly  away  with  him.  He 
swore  to  the  curly  Tail." 

How  difficulte  it  is  to  discerne  the  su- 
pernatural from  the  incredible !  We  laughe 
at  Gillian  s  Faith  in  our  Latin  ;  Erasmus 
laughs  at  Polus  his  Dragon.  Have  we  a 
righte  to  believe  noughte  but  what  we  can 
see  or  prove  ?  Nay,  that  will  never  doe. 
Father  says  a  Capacitie  for  reasoning  in- 
creaseth  a  Capacitie  for  believing.  He 
believes  there  is  such  a  Thing  as  Witch- 
craft, though  not  that  poore  olde  Gammer 
Gurney  is  a  Witch  ;  he  believes  that  Saints 
can  work  Miracles,  though  not  in  alle  the 
Marvels  reported  of  the  Canterbury  Shrine. 

Had  I  beene  Justice  of  the  Peace,  like 
the  King's  Grandmother,  I  woulde  have 
beene  very  jealous  of  Accusations  of 
Witchcraft ;  and  have  taken  infinite  Payns 
to  sift  out  the  Causes  of  Malice,  Jealousie, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  43 

etc.,  which  mighte  have  wroughte  with  the 
poore  olde  Women's  Enemies.  Holie  Writ 
sayth,  "  Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  Witch  to 
live  ;"  but,  questionlesse,  manie  have  suf- 
fered Hurte  that  were  noe  Witches  ;  and  for 
my  Part,  I  have  alwaies  helde  ducking  to  be 
a  very  uncertayn  as  well  as  very  cruel  Teste. 
I  cannot  helpe  smiling,  whenever  I 
think  of  my  Rencounter  with  William 
this  Morning.  Mr.  Gunnel  had  set  me 
Homer's  tiresome  List  of  Ships  ;  and,  be- 
cause of  the  excessive  Heate  within  Doors, 
I  took  my  Booke  into  the  Nuttery,  to  be 
beyonde  the  Wrath  of  far-darting  Phcebus 
Apollo,  where  I  clomb  into  my  favourite  Fil- 
bert Seat.  Anon  comes  William  through 
the  Trees  without  seeing  me,  and  seats 
him  at  the  Foot  of  my  Filbert ;'  then,  out 
with  his  Tablets,  and,  in  a  Posture  I  should 
have  called  studdied,  had  he  known  anie 
one  within  Sighte,  falls  a  poetizing,  I  ques- 
tion not.  Having  noe  Mind  to  be  inter- 
rupted, I  lett  him  be,  thinking  he  woulde 


44  The  Household 

soone  exhaiiste  the  Vein  ;  but  a  Caterpillar 
dropping  from  the  Leaves  on  to  my  Page, 
I  was  fayn,  for  Mirthe-sake,  to  shake  it 
clown  on  his  Tablets.  As  ill  Luck  would 
have  it,  however,  the  little  Reptile  onlie 
fell  among  his  Curls  ;  which  soe  took  me 
at  Vantage,  that  I  coulde  not  helpe  hastilie 
crying,  "  I  beg  your  Pardon."  'Twas  worth 
a  World  to  see  his  Start !  "  Why  ! "  cries 
he,  looking  up,  "  are  there  indeede  Hama- 
dryades  ? "  and  woulde  have  gallanted  a 
little,  but  I  bade  him  hold  down  his  Head, 
while  that  with  a  Twig  I  switched  off  the 
Caterpillar.  Neither  coulde  forbeare  laugh- 
ing ;  and  then  he  sued  me  to  step  downe, 
but  I  was  minded  to  abide  where  I  was. 
Howbeit,  after  a  Minute's  Pause,  he  sayd, 
in  a  grave,  kind  Tone,  "  Come,  little  Wife ;" 
and  taking  mine  Arm  steadilie  in  his 
Hand,  I  lost  my  Balance,  and  was  faine 
to  come  down  whether  or  noe.  We  walk- 
ed for  some  Time  juxta  Fluvium  ;  and  he 
talked  not  badlie  of  his  Travels,  insomuch 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  45 

as  I  founde  there  was  really  more  in  him 
than  one  woulde  think. 

—Was  there  ever  Aniething  soe  per- 
verse, unluckie,  and  downrighte  disagree- 
able ?  We  hurried  our  Afternoone  Tasks, 
to  goe  on  the  Water  with  my  Father;  and, 
meaning  to  give  Mr.  Gunnel  my  Latin 
Traduction,  which  is  in  a  Booke  like  unto 
this,  I  never  knew  he  had  my  Journalle  in- 
steade,  untill  that  he  burst  out  a  laughing. 
"  Soe  this  is  the  famous  Libellus  /"  quoth 

he I  never  waited  for  another 

Word,  but  snatcht  it  out  of  his  Hand  ; 
which  he,  for  soe  strict  a  Man,  bore  well 
enow.  I  do  not  believe  he  could  have  read 
a  dozen  Lines,  and  they  were  towards  the 
Beginning;  but  I  should  hugelie  like  to 
know  which  dozen  Lines  they  were. 

Hum!  I  have  a  Mind  never  to  write 
another  Word.  That  will  be  punishing 
myselfe,  though,  insteade  of  Gunnel.  And 
he  bade  me  not  take  it  to  Heart  like  the 
late  Bishop  of  Durham,  to  whom  a  like 


46  The  Household 

Accident  befel,  which  soe  annoyed  him 
that  he  died  of  Chagrin.  I  will  never 
again,  hovvbeit,  write  Aniething  savouring 
ever  soe  little  of  Levitie  or  Absurditie. 
The  Saints  keepe  me  to  it !  And,  to  know 
it  from  my  Exercise  Book,  I  will  hence- 
forthe  bind  a  blue  Ribbon  round  it.  Fur- 
thermore, I  will  knit  the  sayd  Ribbon  in 
soe  close  a  Knot,  that  it  shall  be  worth  no 
one  else's  Payns  to  pick  it  out.  Lastlie, 
and  for  entire  Securitie,  I  will  carry  the 
Same  in  my  Pouch,  which  will  hold  bigger 
Matters  than  this. 

12nd. 
This  Daye,  at  Dinner,  Mr.  Clement  tooke 

the  Pistoller's  Place  at  the  Reading-desk  ; 
and,  insteade  of  continuing  the  Subject  in 
Hand,  read  a  Paraphrase  of  the  I03rde 
Psalm ;  the  Faithfullnesse  and  elegant 
Turne  of  which  Erasmus  highlie  com- 
mended, though  he  took  Exceptions  to  the 
Phrase,  "  Renewing  thy  Youth  like  that  of 
the  Phcenix,"  whose  fabulous  Story  he  be- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  47 

lievcd  to  have  beene  unknowne  to  the 
Psalmist,  and,  therefore,  however  poeticall, 
unfitt  to  be  introduced.  A  deepe  Blush 
on  sweet  Mercys  Face  ledd  to  the  Detec- 
tion of  the  Paraphraft,  and  drew  on  her 
some  deserved  Commendations.  Erasmus, 
turning  to  my  Father,  exclaymed  with  An- 
imation, "  I  woulde  call  this  House  the 
Academy  of  Plato,  were  it  not  Injustice  to 
compare  it  to  a  Place  where  the  usuall 
Disputations  concerning  Figures  and 
Numbers  were  onlie  occasionallie  inter- 
sperst  with  Disquisitions  concerning  the 
moral  Virtues.  "  Then,  in  a  graver  Mood, 
he  added,  "  One  mighte  envie  you,  but  that 
your  precious  Privileges  are  bound  up 
with  soe  paynfulle  Anxieties.  How  manie 
Pledges  have  you  given  to  Fortune  ! " 

"  If  my  Children  are  to  die  out  of  the 
Course  of  Nature,  before  theire  Parents," 
Father  firmly  replyed,  "I  woulde  rather 
they  died  well-instructed  than  ignorant." 

"You    remind    me,"    rejoyns   Erasmus 


48  The  Household 

"  of  Phocion,  whose  Wife,  when  he  was 
aboute  to  drink  the  fatal  Cup,  exclaimed, 
'Ah,  my  Husband!  you  die  innocent!' 
'And  woulde  you,  my  Wife,'  he  returned, 
'  have  me  die  guilty  ? ' " 

Awhile  after,  Goiicllus  askt  leave  to  see 
Erasmus  his  Signet-ring,  which  he  handed 
down  to  him.  In  passing  it  back,  William, 
who  was  occupyde  in  carving  a  Crane, 
handed  it  soe  negligentlie  that  it  felle  to 
the  Ground.  I  never  saw  such  a  Face  as 
Erasmus  made,  when  'twas  picked  out  from 
the  Rushes!  And  yet,  ouis  are  renewed 
almost  daylie,  which  manie  think  over  nice. 
He  took  it  gingerlie  in  his  faire,  woman- 
like Hands,  and  washed  and  wiped  it  before 
he  put  it  on  ;  which  escaped  not  my  Step, 
mother's  displeased  Notice.  Indeede,  these 
Dutchmen  are  scrupulouslie  cleane,  though 
Mother  calls  'em  swinish,  because  they  will 
eat  raw  Sallets  ;  though,  for  that  Matter, 
Fither  loves  Cresses  and  Ramps.  Slu  alsoe 
mislikes  Erasmus  for  eating  Cheese  and 


Us  Angelas, 
of  Sir  Thos.  More.  49 

Butter  together  with  his  Manchet ;  or  what 
he  calls  Boetram  ;  and  for  being,  generallie, 
daintie  at  his  Sizes,  which  she  sayth  is 
an  ill  Example  to  soe  manie  young  People, 
and  becometh  not  one  with  soe  little  Money 
in's  Purse :  howbeit,  I  think  'tis  not  Nice- 
tie,  but  a  weak  Stomach,  which  makes  him 
loathe  our  Salt-meat  Commons  from 
Michaelmasse  to  Easter,  and  eschew  Fish 
of  the  coarser  Sort.  He  cannot  breakfaste 
on  colde  Milk,  like  Father,  but  liketh  Fur- 
mity,  a  little  spiced.  At  Dinner,  he  pecks 
at,  rather  than  eats,  Ruffs  and  Reeves, 
Lapwings,  or  anie  smalle  Birds  it  may 
chance  ;  but  affects  Sweets  and  Subtilties, 
and  loves  a  Cup  of  Wine  or  Ale,  stirred 
with  Rosemary.  Father  never  toucheth 
the  Wine-cup  but  to  grace  a  Guest,  and 
loves  Water  from  the  Spring.  We  grow- 
ing Girls  eat  more  than  either ;  and  Father 
says  he  loves  to  see  us  slice  away  at  the 
Cob-loaf ;  it  does  him  goode.  What  a  kind 
Father  he  is !     I  wish    my  Step-mother 


50  The  Household 

were  as  kind !  I  hate  alle  sneaping  and 
snubbing,  flowting,  fleering,  pinching,  nip- 
ping, and  such-like ;  it  onlie  creates  Resent- 
ment instead  of  Penitence,  and  lowers  the 
Minde  of  either  Partie.  Gillian  throws  a 
Rolling-pin  at  the  Turnspit's  Head,  and 
we  call  it  low-life  ;  but  we  looke  for  such 
Unmannerliness  in  the  Kitchen.  A  Whip 
is  onlie  fit  for  Tisiphone. 

As  we  rose  from  Table,  I  noted  Argus 
pearcht  on  the  Window-sill,  eagerlie  watch- 
ing for  his  Dinner,  which  he  looketh  for 
as  punctuallie  as  if  he  could  tell  the  Diall ; 
and  to  please  the  good,  patient  Bird,  till 
the  Scullion  broughte  him  his  Mess  of 
Garden-stuff,  I  fetched  him  some  Pulse, 
which  he  took  from  mine  Hand,  taking 
good  Heede  not  to  hurt  me  with  his  sharp 
Beak.  While  I  was  feeding  him,  Erasmus 
came  up,  and  asked  me  concerning  Mercy 
Giggs ;  and  I  tolde  him  how  that  she  was 
a  friendless  Orphan,  to  whom  deare  Father 
afforded  Protection  and    the   run    of  the 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  5 1 

House  ;  and  tolde  him  of  her  Gratitude, 
her  Meekness,  her  Patience,  her  Docilitie, 
her  Aptitude  for  alle  goode  Works  and 
Alms-deeds  ;  and  how,  in  her  little  Cham- 
ber, she  improved  eache  spare  Moment  in 
the  Way  of  Studdy  and  Prayer.  He  re- 
peated, "  Friendlesse  ?  she  cannot  be  called 
Friendlesse,  who  hath  More  for  her  Pro- 
tector, and  his  Children  for  Companions  ;" 
and  then  woulde  heare  more  of  her 
Parents'  sad  Story.  Alsoe,  would  hear 
somewhat  of  Rupert  Allington,  and  how 
Father  gained  his  Lawsuit.  Alsoe  of 
Daisy,,  whose  Name  he  tooke  to  be  the 
true  abbreviation  for  Margaret;  but  I  tolde 
him  how  that  my  Step-sister,  and  Mercy, 
and  I,  being  all  three  of  a  Name,  and  I 
being  alwaies  called  Meg,  we  had  in  Sport 
given  one  the  Significative  of  her  charac- 
teristic Virtue,  and  the  other  that  of  the 
French  Marguerite,  which  may  indeede  be 
rendered  either  Pearl  or  Daisy.  And  Chau- 
cer, speaking  of  our  English  Daisy,  saith 


52  The  Household 

"  Si  douce  est  la  Marguerite. " 

22,rd. 

Since  the  little  Wisdom  I  have  Capacitie 
to  acquire,  soe  oft  gives  me  the  Headache 
to  Distraction,  I  marvel  not  at  Jupiter  s 
Payn  in  his  Head,  when  the  Goddess  of 
Wisdom  sprang  therefrom  full  growne. 

This  Morn,  to  quiet  the  Payn  brought 
on  by  too  busie  Application,  Mr.  Gunnel 
would  have  me  close  my  Book,  and  ramble 
forth  with  Cecy  into  the  Fields.  We  stroll- 
ed towards  Walham  Greene ;  and  she  was 
seeking  for  Shepherd's  Purses  and  Shep- 
herd's Needles,  when  she  came  running 
back  to  me,  looking  rather  pale.  I  askt 
what  had  scared  her,  and  she  made  an- 
swer that  Gammer  Gurney  was  coming 
along  the  Hedge.  I  bade  her  set  aside 
her  Feares  ;  and  anon  we  came  up  with 
Gammer,  who  was  pulling  at  the  purple 
Blossoms  of  the  Deadly  Nightshade.  I 
sayd,  "  Gammer \  to  what  Purpose  gather 
that  Weed  ?  knowest  not  'tis  Evill  ? " 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  5  3 

She  sayth,  mumbling,  "  What  God  hath 
created,  that  call  not  thou  Evill. " 

"  Well,  but,"  quo'  I,  "  'tis  Poison." 

"  Aye,  and  Medicine  too,"  returns  Gam- 
mer. "  I  wonder  what  we  poor  Souls 
might  come  to,  if  we  tooke  Nowt  for  our 
Ails  and  Aches  but  what  we  could  buy  o' 
the  Potticary.  We've  got  noe  Dr.  Clement, 
we  poor  Folks,  to  be  our  Leech  o'  the 
Household." 

"But  hast  no  Feare,"  quo'  I,  "of  an 
Over-dose  ? " 

"There's  manie  a  Doctor,"  sayth  she, 
with  an  unpleasant  Leer,  "  that  hath  given 
that  at  first.  In  Time  he  gets  his  Hand 
in  ;  and  I've  had  a  Plenty  o'  Practice — 
Thanks  to  Self  and  Sister." 

"  I  knew  not,"  quoth  I,  "  that  thou  hadst 
a  Sister." 

"  How  should  ye,  Mistress,"  returns  she, 
shortlie,  "  when  ye  never  comes  nigh  us  ? 
We've  grubbed  on  together  this  many  a 
Year." 


54  The  Household 

"  'Tis  soe  far,"  I  returned,  half  ashamed 

"Why,  soe  it  be,"  answers  Gammer; 
"far  from  Neighbours,  far  from  Church, 
and  far  from  Priest;  howbeit,  my  old 
Legs  carries  me  to  your  House  o'  Fri- 
days;  but  I  know  not  whether  I  shall  e'er 
come  agayn — the  Rye  Bread  was  soe  hard 
last  Time :  it  may  serve  for  young  Teeth, 
and  for  them  as  has  got  none ;  but  mine, 
you  see,  are  onlie  on  the  goe ;"  and  she 
opened  her  Mouth  with  a  ghastlie  Smile. 
"  'Tis  not,"  she  added,  "  that  I'm  ungrate- 
fulle ;  but  thou  sees,  Mistress,  I  really  cant 
eat  Crusts." 

After  a  Moment,  I  asked,  "  Where  lies 
your  Dwelling?" 

"  Out  by  yonder,"  quoth  she,  pointing  to 
a  shapeless  Mass  like  a  huge  Bird's  Nest  in 
the  Corner  of  the  Field.  "There  bides 
poor  Joan  and  I.  Wilt  come  and  looke 
within,  Mistress,  and  see  how  a  Christian 
can  die  ? " 

I  m.itelie  complyed,  in  spite  of  Cec/s 


af  Sir  Thos.  More.  *t$ 

pulling  at  my  Skirts.  Arrived  at  the 
wretched  Abode,  which  had  a  Hole  for  its 
Chimney,  and  another  for  Door  at  once 
and  Window,  I  found,  sitting  in  a  Corner, 
propped  on  a  Heap  of  Rushes,  dried  Leaves, 
and  olde  Rags,  an  aged  sick  Woman,  who 
seemed  to  have  but  a  little  While  to 
live.  A  Mug  of  Water  stoode  within  her 
Reach ;  I  saw  none  other  Sustenance ; 
but,  in  her  Visage,  oh,  such  Peace !  .  .  .  . 
Whispers  Gammer  with  an  awfulle  Look, 
"  She  sees  'em  now  ! " 

"  Sees  who  ? "  quoth  I. 

"  Why,  Angels  in  two  long  Rows,  afore 
the  Throne  of  God,  a  bending  of  them- 
selves, this  Way,  with  their  Faces  to 
th'  Earth,  and  Arms   stretched  out  afore 


'em." 


"  Hath  she  seen  a  Priest  ? "  quoth  I. 

"  Lord  love  ye,"  returns  Gammer,  "  what 
coulde  a  Priest  doe  for  her  ?  She's  in 
Heaven  alreadie.  I  doubte  if  she  can 
heare  me."     And  then,  in  a  loud,  distinct 


56  The  Household 

Voyce,  quite  free  from  her  usuall  Mumping, 
she  beganne  to  recite  in  English,  "  Blessed 
is  every  one  that  feareth  the  Lord,  and 
walketh  in  his  Ways,"  etc. ;  which  the 
dying  Woman  hearde,  although  alreadie 
speechless  ;  and  reaching  out  her  feeble 
Arm  unto  her  Sister's  Neck,  she  dragged 
it  down  till  theire  Faces  touched ;  and 
then,  looking  up,  pointed  at  Somewhat  she 
aimed  to  make  her  see  .  .  .  and  we  alle 
looked  up,  but  saw  Noughte.  Howbeit, 
she  pointed  up  three  several!  Times,  and 
lay,  as  it  were,  transfigured  before  us,  a 
gazing  at  some  transporting  Sighte,  and 
ever  and  anon  turning  on  her  Sister  Looks 
of  Love  ;  and,  the  while  we  stoode  thus 
agaze,  her  Spiritt  passed  away  without 
even  a  Thrill  or  a  Shudder.  Cecy  and  I 
beganne  to  weepe  ;  and,  after  a  While,  soc 
did  Gammer ;  then,  putting  us  forthe,  she 
sayd,  "  Goe,  Children,  goe ;  'tis  noe  goode 
crying ;  and  yet  I'm  thankfulle  to  ye  for 
your  Teares." 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  5  7 

I  sayd,  "  Is  there  Aught  we  can  doe  for 
Thee  ? " 

She  made  Answer,  "Perhaps  you  car. 
give  me  Tuppence,  Mistress,  to  lay  on  her 
poor  Eyelids,  and  keep  'em  down.  Bless 
ee,  bless  'ee !  You're  like  the  good  Sama- 
ritan—  he  pulled  out  Two-pence.  And 
maybe,  if  I  come  to  'ee  To-morrow,  you'l 
give  me  a  Lapfulle  of  Rosemarie,  to  lay  on 

her    poor    Corpse I   know    you've 

Plenty.     God  be  with  'ee,  Children  ;  and 
be  sure  ye  mind  how  a  Christian  can  die." 

So  we  left,  and  came  Home  sober  enow 
Cecy  sayth,  "To  die  is  not  soe  fearfulle, 
Meg,  as  I  thoughte ;  but  should  you  fancy 
dying  without  a  Priest  ?  I  shoulde  not ; 
and  yet  Gammer  sayd  she  wanted  not  one. 
Howbeit,  for  certayn,  Gammer  Gumey  is  noe 
Witch,  or  she  woulde  not  soe  prayse  God." 

To  conclude,  Father,  on  hearing  Alle, 
hath  given  Gammer  more  than  enow  for 
her  present  Needes  ;  and  Cecy  and  I  are 
the  Almoners  of  his  Mercy. 


58  The  Household 

June  24///. 

Yesternighte,  being  St.  John's  Eve,  we 
went  into  Town  to  see  the  mustering  of 
the  Watch.  Mr.  Rastall  had  secured  us  a 
Window  opposite  the  Kings  Head  \\\  Chepe, 
where  theire  Majestys  went  in  State  to  see 
the  Show.  The  Streets  were  a  Marvell  to 
see,  being  like  unto  a  Continuation  of  fayr 
Bowres  or  Arbours,  garlanded  across  and 
over  the  Doors  with  greene  Birch,  long 
Fennel,  Orpin,  St.  Johns  Wort,  white 
Lilies,  and  such  like ;  with  innumerable 
Candles  intersperst,  the  which,  being  lit  up 
as  soone  as  'twas  Dusk,  made  the  Whole 
look  like  enchanted  Land ;  while,  at  the 
same  Time,  the  leaping  over  Bon-fires  com- 
menced, and  produced  Shouts  of  Laughter. 
The  youths  woulde  have  had  Father  goe 
downe  and  joyn  'em ;  Rupert,  speciallie, 
begged  him  hard,  but  he  put  him  off  with, 
"  Sirrah,  you  Goosecap,  doth  think  'twoulde 
befitt  the  Judge  of  the  Sheriffs  Court?" 

At  length,  to  the  Sound  of  Trumpets, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  59 

came  marching  up  Cheapside  two  Thousand 
of  the  Watch,  in  white  Fustian,  with  the 
City  Badge ;  and  seven  hundred  Cresset 
Bearers,  eache  with  his  Fellow  to  supplie 
him  with  Oyl,  and  making,  with  theire 
flaring  Lights,  the  Night  as  cleare  as 
Daye.  After  'em,  the  Morris-dancers  and 
City  Waites  ;  the  Lord  Mayor  on  horse- 
back, very  fine,  with  his  Giants  and  Pa- 
geants ;  and  the  Sheriff  and  his  Watch, 
and  his  Giants  and  Pageants.  The  Streets 
very  uproarious  on  our  Way  back  to  the 
Barge,  but  the  homeward  Passage  deli- 
cious ;  the  nighte  Ayre  cool ;  and  the 
Stars'  shining  brightlie.  Father  and  Eras- 
mus had  some  astronomick  Talk  ;  howbeit, 
methoughte  Erasmus  less  familiar  with  the 
heavenlie  Bodies  than  Father  is.  After- 
wards they  spake  of  the  King,  but  not  over- 
freelie,  by  reason  of  the  Bargemen  over- 
hearing. Thence,  to  the  ever-vext  Question 
of  Martin  Luther,  of  whome  Erasmus  spake 
in  Terms  of  earneste,  yet  qualifyde  Prayse 


60  The  Household 

"If  Luther  be  innocent,"  quoth  he.  "I 
woulde  not  run  him  down  by  a  wicked 
Faction  ;  if  he  be  in  Error,  I  woulde  rather 
have  him  reclaymed  than  destroyed ;  for 
this  is  most  agreeable  to  the  doftrines  of 
our  deare  Lord  and  Master,  who  would 
not  bruise  the  broken  Reede,  nor  quenche 
the  smoking  Flax."  And  much  more  to 
same  Purpose. 

We  younger  Folks  felle  to  choosing  our 
favourite  Mottoes  and  Devices,  in  which 
the  Elders  at  length  joyned  us.  Mother's 
was  loyal — "  Cleave  to  the  Crown,  though 
it  hang  on  a  Bush."  Erasmus's  pithie — 
"  Festiua  lente."  William  sayd  he  was  in- 
debted for  his  to  St.  Paul — "  I  seeke  not 
yours,  but  you."  For  me,  I  quoted  one  I 
had  seene  in  an  olde  Countrie  Church, 
"  Mieux  etre  que  paroitre,"  which  pleased 
Father  and  Erasmus  much. 

Poor  Erasmus  caughte  Colde  on  the 
Water  last  Nighte,  and  keeps  House  to- 
daye,    taking    warm    Possetts.      'Tis   my 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  61 

Week  of  Housekeeping  under  Mothers 
Guidance,  and  I  never  had  more  Pleasure 
in  it ;  delighting  to  suit  his  Taste  in  sweete 
Things,  which,  methinks,  all  Men  like.  I 
have  enow  of  Time  left  for  Studdy,  when 
alle's  done. 

He  hathe  beene  the  best  Part  of  the 
Morning  in  our  Academia,  looking  over 
Books  and  Manuscripts,  taking  Notes  of 
some,  discoursing  with  Mr.  Gunnel  on 
others  ;  and,  in  some  Sorte,  interrupting 
our  Morning's  Work  ;  but  how  pleasantlie  ! 
Besides,  as  Father  sayth,  "  Varietie  is  not 
always  Interruption.  That  which  occa- 
sionallie  lets  and  hinders  our  accustoriled 
Studdies,  may  prove  to  the  ingenious  noe 
less  profitable  than  theire  Studdies  them- 
selves." 

They  beganne  with  discussing  the  Pro- 
nunciation of  Latin  and  Greek,  on  which 
Erasmus  differeth  much  from  us,  though 
he  holds  to  our  Pronunciation  of  the 
Theta.     Thence,  to  the  absurde  Partie  of 


62  The  Household 

the    Ciccronians   now   in   Italie,   who   will 
admit  noe  Author  save    Tully  to  be  read 
nor  quoted,  nor  any  Word  not  in  his  Writ- 
ings to  be  used.     Thence  to  the  Latinitie 
of  the  Fathers,  of  whose   Style  he   spake 
slightlie    enow,   but   rated    Jerome  above 
Augustine.     At  length,  to  his  Greek  and 
Latin   Testament,  of  late  issued  from  the 
Presse,  and  the  incredible  Labour  it  hath 
cost  him  to  make  it  as  perfect  as  possible : 
on  this  Subject  he  soe  warmed,  that  Bess 
and    I    listened   with    suspended   Breath. 
"  May  it  please  God,"  sayth  he,  knitting 
ferventlie  his  Hands,  "  to  make  it  a  Bless- 
ing to  all  Christendom  !     I  looke  for  noe 
other  Reward.     Scholars  and  Believers  yet 
unborn  may  have  Reason  to  thank,  and  yet 
may  forget,  Erasmus:'     He  then  went  on 
to  explain  to  Gunnel  what  he  had  much 
felt  in  want  of,  and  hoped  some  Scholar 
might  yet  undertake  ;  to  wit,  a  sort  of  In- 
dex    Bibliorum,   showing    in    how    manie 
Passages    of    Ho'y   Writ   occurreth    anie 


of  Sir  Thos.  Mure.  63 

given  Word,  etc. ;  and  he  e'en  proposed  it 
to  Gunnel,  saying,  'twas  onlie  the  Work  of 
Patience  and  Industry,  and  mighte  be  layd 
aside,  and  resumed  as  Occasion  offered, 
and  completed  at  Leisure,  to  the  great 
Thankfulnesse  of  Scholars.  But  Gunnel 
onlie  smiled  and  shooke  his  Head.  How- 
beit,  Erasmus  set  forthe  his  Scheme  soe 
playnlie,  that  I,  having  a  Pen  in  Hand,  did 
privilie  note  down  alle  the  Heads  of  the 
same,  thinking,  if  none  else  woulde  under- 
take it,  why  should  not  I  ?  since  Leisure 
and  Industrie  were  alone  required,  and 
since  'twoulde  be  soe  acceptable  to  manie, 
'speciallie  to  Erasmus. 

June  i^tlu 
Hearde  Mother  say  to  Barbara,  "  Be  sure 
the  Sirloin  is  well  basted  for  the  King's 
Physician  ; "  which  avised  me  that  Dr. 
Linacre  was  expected.  In  Truth,  he  re- 
turned with  Father  in  the  Barge  ;  and  they 
tooke  a  Turn  on  the  River  Bank  before 
sitting  dowa  e  to  table.     I  noted  thern  from 


64  The  Household 

my  Lattice  ;  and  anon,  Father,  beckoning 
me,  cries,  "  Child,  bring  out  my  favourite 
Treatyse  on  Fisshynge,  printed  by  Wynkyn 
de  Worde ;  I  must  give  the  Doctor  my 
loved  Passage." 

Joyning  'em  with  the  Booke,  I  found 
FatlLer  telling  him  of  the  Roach,  Dace, 
Chub,  Barbel,  etc.,  we  oft  catch  opposite 
the  Church  ;  and  hastilie  turning  over  the 
Leaves,  he  beginneth  with  Unction  to  read 
the  Passage  ensuing,  which  I  love  to  the 
full  as  much  as  he  : — 

He  observeth,  if  the  Angler's  Sport 
shoulde  fail  him,  "  he  at  the  best  hathe  his 
holsom  Walk  and  mery  at  his  Ease,  a  swete 
Ayre  of  the  swete  Savour  of  the  Meade  of 
Flowers,  that  maketh  him  hungry ;  he 
heareth  the  melodious  Harmonie  of  Fowles  ; 
he  seeth  the  young  Swans,  Herons,  Ducks, 
Cotes,  and  manie  other  Fowles,  with  theire 
Broods,  which  me  seemeth  better  than  alle 
the  Noise  of  Hounds,  Faukenors,  and 
Fowles  can  make.     And  if  the  Angler  take 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  65 

Fysshe,  then  there  is  noe  Man  merrier 
than  he  is  in  his  Spryte."  And,  "Ye 
shall  not  use  this  foresaid  crafty  Disporte 
for  no  covetysnesse  in  the  encreasing  and 
sparing  of  your  Money  onlie,  but  prynci- 
pallie  for  your  Solace,  and  to  cause  tne 
Health  of  your  Bodie,  and  specialle  of  your 
Soule  ;  for  when  ye  purpose  to  goe  on  your 
Disportes  of  Fysshynge,  ye  will  not  desire 
greatlie  manie  Persons  with  you,  which 
woulde  lett  you  of  your  Game.  And  thenne 
ye  may  serve  God  devoutlie,  in  saying 
affecluouslie  your  customable  Prayer  ;  and 
thus  doing,  ye  shall  eschew  and  voyd  manie 
Vices." 

"Angling  is  itselfe  a  Vice,"  cries  Erasmus, 
from  the  Thresholde ;  "  for  my  Part,  I  wilt 
fish  none,  save  and  except  for  pickled 
Oysters." 

"  In  the  Regions  below,"  answers  Father; 
and  then  laughinglie  tells  Linacre  of  his 
firste  Dialogue  with  Erasmus,  who  had 
beene  feasting  in  my  Lord  Mayors  Cel- 


66  The  Household 

lar  : — " '  Whence  come  you  ? '  '  From  below. 
'  What  were  they  about  there  ? '  '  Eating 
live  Oysters,  and  drinking  out  of  leather 
Jacks.'  '  Either  you  are  Erasmus}  etc. 
'  Either  you  are  More  or  Nothing.' " 

"'Neither  more  nor  less,'  you  should 
have  rejoyned,"  sayth  the  Doctor. 

"  How  I  wish  I  had ! "  says  Father; 
"don't  torment  me  with  a  Jest  I  mighte 
have  made  and  did  not  make  ;  'speciallie  to 
put  downe  Erasmus." 

"  Concedo  nulli,"  sayth  Erasmus. 

"Why  are  you  so  lazy?"  asks  Linacre ; 
"  I  am  sure  you  can  speak  English  if  you 
will." 

"  Soe  far  from  it,"  sayth  Erasmus,  "  that 
I  made  my  Incapacitie  an  Excuse  for  de- 
clining an  English  Rectory.  Albeit,  you 
know  how  Wareham  requited  me  ;  saying, 
in  his  kind,  generous  Way,  I  served  the 
Church  more  by  my  Pen  than  I  coulde  by 
preaching  Sermons  in  a  countrie  Village." 

Sayth  Linacre,  "The  Archbishop  hath 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  6? 

made  another  Remark,  as  much  to  the 
Purpose:  to  wit,  that  he  has  received  from 
you  the  Immortalitie  which  Emperors  and 
Kings  cannot  bestow." 

"  They  cannot  even  bid  a  smoking  Sirloin 
retain  its  Heat  an  Hour  after  it  hath  left 
the  Fire,"  sayth  Father.  "  Tilly-vally  !  as 
my  good  Alice  says, — let  us  remember  the 
universal  Doom,  '  Fruges  consumere  nati* 
and  philosophize  over  our  Ale  and  Bracket." 

"Not  Cambridge  Ale,  neither,"  sayth 
Erasmus. 

"Will  you  never  forget  that  unlucky 
Beverage?"  sayth  Father.  "Why,  Man»- 
think  how  manie  poor  Scholars  there  be, 
that  content  themselves,  as  I  have  hearde 
one  of  St.  yoJuis  declare,  with  a  penny 
Piece  of  Beef  amongst  four,  stewed  into 
Pottage  with  a  little  Salt  and  Oatmeal; 
and  that  after  fasting  from  four  o'clock  in 
the  Morning  !  Say  Grace  for  us  this  Daye, 
Urasmus,  with  guode  Heart." 

At  Table,   Discourse  flowed  soe  thicke 


68  The  Household 

and  faste  that  I  mighte  aim  in  vayn  to 
chronicle  it — and  why  shonlde  I  ?  dwelling 
as  I  doe  at  the  Fountayn  Head  ?  Onlie 
that  I  finde  Pleasure,  alreadie,  in  glancing 
over  the  foregoing  Pages  whensoever  they 
concern  Father  and  Erasmus,  and  wish 
they  were  more  faithfullie  recalled  and  bet- 
ter writ.  One  Thing  sticks  by  me, — a  funny 
Reply  of  Father's  to  a  Man  who  owed  him 
Money,  and  who  put  him  off  with  "  Memento 
Moriens."  "  I  bid  you,"  retorted  Father, 
"  Memento  Mori  Alris ;  and  I  with  you 
woulde  take  as  goode  Care  to  provide  for 
the  one  as  I  do  for  the  other." 

Linacre  laughed  much  at  this,  and  sayd, 
— "  That  was  real  Wit ;  a  Spark  struck  at 
the  Moment ;  and  with  noe  Ill-nature  in  it, 
for  I  am  sure  your  Debtor  coulde  not  help 
laughing." 

"  Not  he,"  quoth  Erasmus.  "  More's 
Drollerie  is  like  that  of  a  young  Gentle- 
woman of  his  Name,  which  shines  with- 
out burning,"  ....  and,  oddlie   enow,  he 


of  Sir  Tlios.  More.  69 

looked  acrosse  at  vie.     I  am  sure  he  meant 
Bess. 

July  \st. 
Father  broughte  home  a  strange  Guest 
to-daye, — a  converted  yew,  with  grizzlie 
Beard,  furred  Gown,  and  Eyes  that  shone 
like  Lamps  lit  in  dark  Cavernes.  He  had 
beene  to  Benmarine  and  Tremcccn,  to  the 
Holie  Citie  and  to  Damascus,  to  Urmia  and 
Assyria,  and  I  think  alle  over  the  knowne 
World  ;  and  tolde  us  manie  strange  Tales, 
one  hardlie  knew  how  to  believe  ;  as,  for 
Example,  of  a  Sea-coast  Tribe,  called  the 
Balouches,  who  live  on  Fish,  and  build 
theire  Dwellings  of  the  Bones.  Alsoe,  of 
a  Race  of  his  Countriemen  beyond  Eu- 
phrates  who  believe  in  Christ,  but  know 
Nothing  of  the  Pope  ;  and  of  whom  were 
the  Magians  that  followed  the  Star.  This 
agreeth  not  with  our  Legend.  He  averred 
that,  though  soe  far  apart  from  theire 
Brethren,  theire  Speech  was  the  same,  and 
even  theire  Songs  ;  and  he  sang  or  chaunt 


7<D  The  Household 


cd  one  which  he  sayd  was  common  among 
the  Jews  alle  over  the  World,  and  had  beene 
soe  ever  since  theire  Citie  was  ruinated  and 
the  People  captivated,  and  yet  it  was  never 
sett  down  in  Prick-song.  Erasmus,  who 
knows  little  or  nought  of  Hebrew,  listened 
to  the  Words  with  Curiositie,  and  made  him 
repeate  them  twice  or  thrice :  and  though 
I  know  not  the  Character,  it  seemed  to  me 
they  sounded  thus  : 

Adir  Hu  yivne  bethcha  beccaro, 
El,  Vnej  El,  Vm ;  El,  Vne; 
Bethcha  beccaro. 

Though  Christianish,  he  woulde  not  eat 
Pig's  Face ;  and  sayd  Swine's  Flesh  was 
forbidden  by  the  Hebrew  Law  for  its  Un- 
wholesomenesse  in  hot  Countries  and  hot 
Weather,  rather  than  by  Way  of  arbitrarie 
Prohibition.  Daisy  took  a  great  Dislike 
to  this  Man,  and  woulde  not  sit  next  him. 

In  the  Hay-field  alle  the  Evening. 
Swathed  Father  in  a  Hay-rope,  and  made 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  7 1 

him  pay  the  Fine,-  which  he  pretended  to 
resist.  Cccy  was  just  about  to  cast  one 
round  Erasmus,  when  her  Heart  failed, 
and  she  ran  away,  colouring  to  the  Eyes. 
He  sayd,  he  never  saw  such  pretty  Shame. 
Father  reclining  on  the  Hay,  with  his 
Head  on  my  Lap,  and  his  Eyes  shut,  Bess 
askt  if  he  were  asleep.  He  made  Answer, 
"  Yes,  and  dreaming."  I  askt,  "  Of  what  ? " 
"Of  a  far-off  future  Daye,  Meg;  when  thou 
and  I  shall  looke  back  on  this  Hour,  and 
this  Hay-field,  and  my  Head  on  thy  Lap." 
"  Nay,  but  what  a  stupid  Dream,  Mr. 
More"  says  Mother.  "  Why,  what  woulde 
you  dreame  of,  Mrs.  Alice  ?  "  "  Forsooth, 
if  I  dreamed  at  alle,  when  I  was  wide 
awake,  it  shoulde  be  of  being  Lord  Chan- 
cellor at  the  leaste."  "  Well,  Wife,  I  forgive 
thee  for  not  saying  at  the  most.  Lord 
Chancellor,  quotha !  And  you  woulde  be 
Dame  Alice,  I  trow,  and  ride  in  a  Whirle- 
cote,  and  keep  a  SpanisJi  Jennet,  and  a 
Couple  of  Greyhounds,  and  wear  a  Train 


j2  The  Household 

before  and  behind,  and  carry  a  Jerfalcon 
on  your  Fist."  "On  my  Wrist."  "No, 
that's  not  such  a  pretty  Word  as  t'other ! 
Go  to,  go  ! " 

Straying  from  the  others,  to  a  remote 
Corner  of  the  Meadow,  or  ever  I  was 
aware,  I  came  close  upon  Gammer  Gur- 
ney,  holding  Somewhat  with  much  Care. 
"  Give  ye  good  Den,  Mistress  Meg"  quoth 
she.  "  I  cannot  abear  to  rob  the  Birds  of 
theire  Nests  ;  but  I  knows  you  and  yours 
be  kind  to  dumb  Creatures,  soe  here's  a 
Nest  o'  young  Owzels  for  ye — and  I  can't 
call  'em  dumb  nowther,  for  they'll  sing 
bravelie  some  o'  these  Days."  "  How  hast 
fared  of  late,  Gammer?"  quoth  I.  "Why, 
well  enow  for  such  as  I,"  she  made  An- 
swer ;  "  since  I  lost  the  Use  o'  my  right 
Hand,  I  can  nowther  spin,  nor  nurse  sick 
Folk ;  but  I  pulls  Rushes,  and  that  brings 
me  a  few  Pence,  and  I  be  a  good  Herbalist ; 
onlie,  because  I  says  one  or  two  English 
Prayers,  and  hates  the  Priests,  some  Folks 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  73 

thirks  me  a  Witch."  "  But  why  dost  hate 
the  Priests  ?"  quoth  I.  "  Never  you  mind," 
she  gave  Answer,  "  I've  Reasons  manie  ; 
and  for  my  English  Prayers,  they  were 
taught  me  by  a  Gentleman  I  nursed,  that's 
now  a  Saint  in  Heaven,  along  with  poor 
Joan." 

And  soe  she  hobbled  off,  and  I  felt  kind- 
lie  towards  her,  I  scarce  knew  why — per- 
haps because  she  spake  soe  lovingly  of  her 
dead  Sister,  and  because  of  that  Sister's 
Name.     My  Mother's  Name  was  Joan. 

July  2nd. 

Erasmus  is  gone.  His  last  Saying  to 
Father  was,  "  They  will  have  you  at  Court 
yet ; "  and  Fathers  Answer,  "  When  Plato  s 
Year  comes  round." 

To  me  he  gave  a  Copy — how  precious  ! 
— of  his  Testament.  "  You  are  an  elegant 
Latinist,  Margaret"  he  was  pleased  to  say, 
"  but,  if  you  woulde  drink  deeplie  of  the 
Well-springs  of  Wisdom,  applie  to  Greek. 
The  Latins  have  onlie  shallow  Rivulets \ 


74  The  Household 

the  Greeks,  copious  Rivers,  running  over 
Sands  of  Gold.  Read  Plato  ;  he  wrote  on 
Marble,  with  a  Diamond ;  but  above  alle, 
read  the  New  Testament.  'Tis  the  Key 
to  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

To  Mr.  Gunnel,  he  said  smiling,  "  Have 
a  Care  of  thyself,  dear  G (melius,  and  take 
a  little  Wine  for  thy  Stomach's  Sake.  The 
Wages  of  most  Scholars,  now-a-days,  are 
weak  Eyes,  Ill-health,  an  empty  Purse,  and 
shorte  Commons.  I  neede  only  bid  thee 
beware  of  the  two  first." 

To  Bess,  "  Farewell,  Bessy ;  thank  you 
for  mending  my  bad  Latin.  When  I  write 
to  you,  I  will  be  sure  to  signe  myselfe 
' Roterodamiusl  Farewell,  sweete  Cecil; 
let  me  always  continue  your  'desired 
Amiable.'  And  you,  yacky — love  your 
Book  a  little  more." 

"  Jack's  deare  Mother,  not  content  with 
her  Girls,"  sayth  Father,  "was  alwaies 
wishing  for  a  Boy,  and  at  last  she  had  one, 
that  means  to  remain  a  Boy  alle  his  Life." 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  75 

"  The  Dutch  Schoolmasters  thoughte  me 
dulle  and  heavie,"  sayth  Erasmus,  "  soe 
there  is  some  Hope  of  yacky  yet."  And 
soe  stepped  into  the  Barge,  which  we 
watched  to  Chelsea  Reach.  How  dulle  the 
House  has  beene  ever  since !  Rupert  and 
William  have  had  me  into  the  Pavilion  to 
hear  the  Plot  of  a  Miracle-play  they  have 
alreadie  begunne  to  talke  over  for  Christ- 
viasse,  but  it  seemed  to  me  downrighte 
Rubbish.  Father  sleepes  in  Town  to- 
nighte,  soe  we  shall  be  stupid  enow.  Bessy 
hath  undertaken  to  work  Father  a  Slipper 
for  his  tender  Foot ;  and  is  happie,  trac- 
ing- for  the  Pattern  our  three  Moor-cocks 
and  Colts  ;  but  I  am  idle  and  tiresome. 

If  I  had  Paper,  I  woulde  beginne  my 
Opus ;  but  I  dare  not  ask  Gunnel  for  anie 
more  just  yet;  nor  have  anie  Money  to 
buy  some.  I  wish  I  had  a  Couple  of 
Angels.  I  think  I  shall  write  to  Fathet 
for  them  to-morrow  ;  he  alwaies  likes  to 
heare  from  us  if  he  is  twenty-four  Hours 


?6  The  Household 

absent,  providing  we  conclude  not  with  "I 
have  Nothing  more  to  say." 

July  Ath. 

I  have  writ  my  Letter  to  Father.  I  al- 
moste  wish,  now,  that  I  had  not  sent  it. 

Rupert  and  Will  still  full  of  theire  Mo- 
ralitie,  which  reallie  has  some  Fun  in  it. 
To  ridicule  the  Extravagance  of  those  who, 
as  the  Saying  is,  carry  theire  Farms  and 
Fields  on  theire  Backs,  William  proposes 
to  come  in,  all  verdant,  with  a  Model  of  a 
Farm  on  his  Back,  and  a  Windmill  on  his 
Head! 

July  5t/i. 

How  sweete,  how  gracious  an  Answer 
from  Father !  John  Harris  has  broughte 
me  with  it  the  two  Angels ;  less  prized 
than  this  Epistle. 

Jidy  iot/1. 

Sixteenth  Birthdaye.  Father  away,  which 
made  it  sadde.  Mothet  gave  me  a  Pay  rof 
blue  Hosen  with  Silk  Clocks  ;  Mr.  Gunnel, 
an  lvorie-handled  Stylus ;   Bess,  a  Bodkin 


of  Sir  TJws.  More.  77 

for  my  Hair  ;  Daisy,  a  Book-mark  ;  Mercy, 
a  Saffron  Cake  ;  Jack,  a  Basket ;  and  Cecil, 
a  Nosegay.  William's  Present  was  fay  rest 
of  alle ;  but  I  am  hurte  with  him  and  my- 
selfe ;  for  he  offered  it  soe  queerlie  and 
tagged  it  with  such.  ...  I  refused  it,  and 
there's  an  End.  'Twas  unmannerlie  and 
unkinde  of  me,  and  I've  cried  aboute  it 
since. 

Father  alwaies  gives  us  aBirthdayeTreat ; 
soe,  contrived  that  Mother  shoulde  take  us 
to  see  my  Lord  Cardinall  of  York  goe  to 
Westminster  in  State.  We  had  a  merrie 
Watej-partie ;  got  goode  Places  and  saw 
the  Show ;  Crosse-bearers,  Pillar-bearers, 
Ushers,  and  alle.  Himselfe  in  crimson 
engrayned  Sattin,  and  Tippet  of  Sables, 
with  an  Orange  in  his  Hand  helde  to  's 
Nose,  as  though  the  common  Ayr  were 
too  vile  to  breathe.  What  a  pompous 
Priest  it  is  !  The  Archbishop  mighte  well 
say,  "That  Man  is  drunk  with  too  much 
Prosperitie." 


78  The  Household 

Betweene  Dinner  and  Supper,  we  had 
a  fine  Skirmish  in  the  Straits  of  Ther- 
mopylae. Mr.  Gunnel  headed  the  Persians, 
and  Will  was  Lconidas,  with  a  swashing 
Buckler,  and  a  Helmet  a  Yard  high ;  but 
Mr.  Gunnel  gave  him  such  a  Rap  on  the 
Crest,  that  it  went  over  the  Wall ;  soe  then 
William  thought  there  was  Nothing  left 
for  him  but  to  die.  Howbeit,  as  he  had 
beene  layd  low  sooner  than  he  had  rerk- 
oned  on,  he  prolonged  his  last  Agonies  a 
goode  deal,  and  gave  one  of  the  Persians 
a  tremendous  Kick,  just  as  they  were 
aboute  to  rifle  his  Pouch.  They  therefore 
thoughte  there  must  be  Somewhat  in  it 
they  shoulde  like  to  see;  soe,  helde  him 
down  in  spite  of  his  hitting  righte  and 
lefte,  and  pulled  therefrom,  among  sundrie 
lesser  Matters,  a  carnation  Knot  of  mine. 
Poor  Varlet,  I  wish  he  woulde  not  be  soe 
stupid. 

After  Supper,  Mother  proposed  a  Con- 
cert ;  and  we  were  alle  singing  a  Rounde, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  J§ 

when  looking  up,  I  saw  Father  stand- 
ing in  the  Door-way,  with  such  a  happy 
Smile  on  his  Face  !  He  was  close  behind 
Rupert  and  Daisy,  who  were  singing  from 
the  same  Book,  and  advertised  them  of  his 
Coming  by  gentlie  knocking  theire  Heads 
together  ;  but  I  had  the  firste  Kiss,  even 
before  Mother,  because  of  my  Birthdaye. 

July  nth. 
It  turns  out  that  Fathers  Lateness  Yes- 
tereven  was  caused  by  Press  of  Businesse  ; 
a  forayn  Mission  having  beene  proposed  to 
him,  which  he  resisted  as  long  as  he  could, 
but  was  at  length  relu6tantlie  induced  to 
accept  Lengthe  of  his  Stay  uncertayn, 
which  casts  a  Gloom  on  alle  ;  but  there  is 
soe  much  to  doe  as  to  leave  little  Time  to 
think,  and  Father  is  busiest  of  alle ;  yet 
hath  founde  Leisure  to  concert  with  Mother 
for  us  a  Journey  into  the  Country,  which 
will  occupy  some  of  the  Weeks  of  his  Ab- 
sence.    I  am  full  of  carefulle  Thoughts  arid 


80  The  Household 

Forebodings,  being  naturallie  of  too  anx- 
ious a  Disposition.  Oh,  let  me  caste  alle 
ny  Cares  on  Another  !  "  Fccisti  nos  ad  tc, 
Dominc  ;  ct  inquietum  est  cor  nostrum,  douce 
requiescat  in  tc." 

May  27th,  1523. 
'Tis  soe  manic  Months  agone  since  I 
made  an  Entry  in  my  Libcllus,  as  that  my 
Motto,  " Nulla  Dies  sine Linea,"  hath  some- 
what of  Sarcasm  in  it.  How  manie  Things 
doe  I  beginne  and  leave  unfinisht !  and  yet, 
less  from  Caprice  than  Lack  of  Strength  ; 
like  him  of  whom  the  Scripture  was  writ, — 
"This  Man  beganne  to  build,  and  was  not 
able  to  finish."  My  Opus,  for  Instance  ;  the 
which  my  Fathers  prolonged  Absence  in 
the  Autumn,  and  my  Winter  Visit  to  Aunt 
Nan  and  Aunt  Fan,  gave  me  such  Leisure 
to  carrie  forward.  But  alack  !  Leisure  was 
less  to  seeke  than  Learninge ;  and  when  I 
came  back  to  mine  olde  Taskes,  Leisure 
was  awanting  too  ;  and  then,  by  reason  of 
my  sleeping  in  a  separate  Chamber,  I  was 


of  Sir  Tlws.  More.  81 

enabled  to  steale  Hours  from  the  earlie 
Morn  and  Hours  from  the  Night,  and,  like 
unto  Solomons  virtuous  Woman,  my  Can- 
dle went  not  out.  But  'twas  not  to  Purpose 
that  I  worked,  like  the  virtuous  Woman, 
for  I  was  following  a  Jack-o'-Lantern  ;  hav- 
ing forsooke  the  straight  Path  laid  downe 
by  Erasmus  for  a  foolish  Path  of  mine 
owne  ;  and  soe  I  toyled,  and  blundered,  and 
puzzled,  and  was  mazed ;  and  then  came 
on  that  Payn  in  my  Head.  Father  sayd, 
"  What  makes  Meg  soe  pale  ? "  and  I 
sayd  not :  and,  at  the  last,  I  tolde  Mother 
there  was  somewhat  throbbing  and  twist- 
ing in  the  Back  of  mine  Head,  like  imto 
a  little  Worm  that  woulde  not  die  ;  and 
she  made  Answer,  "  Ah,  a  Maggot !  "  and 
soe  bv  her  Scoff  I  was  shamed.  Then 
I  gave  over  mine  Oflis,  but  the  Payn  did 
not  yet  goe  ;  soe  then  I  was  longing  for  the 
deare  Pleasure,  and  fondlie  turning  over 
the  Leaves,  and  wondering  woulde  Fathet 
be  surprised  and  pleased  with  it  some  Daye, 


82  The  Household 

when  Father  himsclfe  came  in  or  ever  I 
was  aware.  He  sayth,  "What  hast  thou, 
Megt "  I  faltered,  and  woulde  sett  it  aside. 
He  sayth,  "  Nay,  let  me  see ; "  and  soe 
takes  it  from  me  ;  and  after  the  firste  Glance 
throws  himself  into  a  Seat,  his  Back  to  me, 
and  firste  runs  it  hastilie  through,  then  be- 
ginnes  with  Methode  and  such  Silence  and 
Gravitie  as  that  I  trembled  at  his  Side,  and 
felt  what  it  must  be  to  stand  a  Prisoner  at 
the  Bar,  and  he  the  Judge.  Sometimes  I 
thought  he  must  be  pleased,  at  others  not : 
at  lengthe,  alle  my  fond  Hopes  were  ended 
by  his  crying,  "  This  will  never  doe.  Poor 
Wretch,  hath  this  then  beene  thy  Toyl  ? 
How  couldst  find  Time  for  soe  much  La- 
bour ?  for  here  hath  beene  Trouble  enow 
and  to  spare.  Thou  must  have  stolen  it, 
sweet  Me/j,  from  the  Night,  and  prevented 
the  Morning  Watch.  Most  dear'st  J  thy 
Fathers  owne  loved  Child  ; "  and  soe,  ca- 
ressing me  till  I  gave  over  my  Shame  and 
Disappointment 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  S$ 

"  I  neede  not  to  tell  thee,  Meg"  Fathet 
sayth,  "  of  the  unprofitable  Labour  of  Sisy* 
f/ms,  nor  of  drawing  Water  in  a  Sieve. 
There  are  some  Things,  most  deare  one, 
that  a  Woman,  if  she  trieth,  may  doe  as 
well  as  a  Man  ;  and  some  she  cannot,  and 
some  she  had  better  not.  Now,  I  tell  thee, 
firmlie,  since  the  firste  Payn  is  the  leaste 
sharpe,  that,  despite  the  Spiritt  and  Genius 
herein  shewn,  I  am  avised  'tis  Work  thou 
canst  not  and  Work  thou  hadst  better  not 
doe.  But  judge  for  thyselfe :  if  thou  wilt 
persist,  thou  shalt  have  Leisure  and  Quiet, 
and  a  Chamber  in  my  new  Building,  and 
alle  the  Help  my  Gallery  of  Books  may 
afford.     But  thy  Father  says,  Forbear." 

Soe,  what  coulde  I  say,  but  "My  Father 
shall  never  speak  to  me  in  vayn." 

Then  he  gathered  the  Papers  up,  and 
sayd,  "Then  I  shall  take  Temptation  out 
of  your  Way  ;"  and  pressing  'em  to  his 
Heart  as  he  did  soe,  sayth,  "  They  are  as 
deare  to  me  as  they  can  be  to  you  ; "  and 


84  The  IloitscJiold 

soe  left  me,  looking  out  as  though  I  noted 
(but  I  noted  not)  the  cleare-shining  Thames, 
'Twas  Twilighte,  and  I  stoode  there  I 
know  not  how  long,  alone  and  lonely ; 
with  Tears  coming,  I  knew  not  why,  into 
mine  Eyes.  There  was  a  Weight  in  the 
Ayr,  as  of  coming  Thunder;  the  Scream- 
ing, ever  and  anon,  of  Juno  and  Argus 
inclined  me  to  Mellancholie,  as  it  alwaies 
does  :  and  at  length  I  beganne  to  note  the 
Moon  rising,  and  the  deepening  Clearnesse 
of  the  Water,  and  the  lazy  Motion  of  the 
Barges,  and  the  Flashes  of  Light  whene'er 
the  Rowers  dipt  theire  Oars.  And  then  I 
beeranne  to  attend  to  the  Cries  and  differ- 
ent  Sounds  from  acrosse  the  Water,  and 
the  Tolling  of  a  distant  Bell ;  and  I  felle 
back  on  mine  olde  heart-sighinge,  "  Fecisti 
nos  ad  te,  Domine ;  et  iuquietum  est  cor 
nostrum,  donee  requiescat  in  te!' 

Or  ever  the  Week  was  gone,  my  Father 
had  contrived  for  me  another  Journey  to 
New  Hall,  to  abide  with  the  lay  Nuns,  as 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  85 

he   callcth    them, — Aunt   Nan   and  Aunt 

Fan,   whom   my  Step-mother  loveth    not, 

but  whom  I  love,  and  whom  Father  loveth. 

Indeede,  'tis  sayd  in  Essex  that  at  first  he 

inclined  to  Aunt  Nan  rather  than  to  my 

Mother ;  but  that,  perceiving  my  Mother 

affected    his    Companie,   and   Aunt   Nan 

affected  it  not,  he  diverted  his  hesitating 

Affections  unto  her,  and  took  her  to  wife. 

Howbeit,  Aunt  Nan  loveth  him  dearlie,  as 

a  Sister  ought :    indeede,  she  loveth  alle, 

except,  methinketh,  herself,  to  whom,  alone, 

she  is  rigid  and  severe.     How  holie  are  my 

Aunts' -Lives  !     Cloistered  Nuns  could  not 

be  more  pure,  and  could  scarce  be  as  use- 

fulle.      Though   wise,  they   can   be   gay ; 

though  noe  longer  young,  they  love   the 

Young.     And  theire  Reward  is,  the  Young 

love  them  ;    and   I  am  fulle  sure  in  this 

World  they  seeke  noe  better. 

Returned  to  Chelsea,  I  spake  much  in 
Prayse  of  mine  Aunts,  and  of  single  Life. 
On  a  certayn  Evening,  we  Maids  were  sett 


80  The  Household 

at  our  Needles  and  Samplers  on  the  Pavil- 
ion Steps  ;  and,  as  Follie  will  out,  'gan  talk 
of  what  we  would  fayn  have  to  our  Lots, 
shoulde  a  goode  Fairie  starte  up  and  grant 
cache  a  Wish.  Daisy  was  for  a  Countess's 
Degree,  with  Hawks  and  Hounds.  Bess 
was  for  founding  a  College  ;  Mercy  a  Hos- 
pital ;  and  she  spake  soe  experimentallie 
of  its  Conditions,  that  I  was  fayn  to  goe 
Partners  with  her  in  the  same.  Cecy  com- 
menced, "  Supposing  I  were  married  ;  if 
once  that  I  were  married" — on  which  Fa- 
ther, who  had  come  up  unperceived,  burst 
out  laughing  and  sayth,  "  Well,  Dame 
Cecily,  and  what  State  would  you  keep  ? " 
Howbeit,  as  he  and  I  afterwards  paced 
together,  juxta  Fluvium,  he  did  say, 
"Mercy  hath  well  propounded  the  Condi- 
tions of  an  Hospital  or  Alms-house  for 
aged  and  sick  Folk,  and  'tis  a  Fantasie  of 
mine  to  sett  even  such  an  one  afoot,  and 
give  you  the  Conduct  of  the  same." 

From  this   careless  Speech,  dropped  as 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  Sy 

'twere  by  the  Way,  hath  sprung  mine 
House  of  Refuge  !  and  oh,  what  Pleasure 
have  I  derived  from  it !  How  good  is  my 
Father !  how  the  Poor  bless  him  !  and  how 
kind  is  he,  through  them,  to  me  !  Laying 
his  Hand  kindlie  on  my  Shoulder,  this 
Morning,  he  sayd,  "  Meg,  how  fares  it  with 
thee  now  ?  Have  I  cured  the  Payn  in  thy 
Head  ? "  Then,  putting  the  House-key 
into  my  Hand,  he  laughingly  added,  "Tis 
now  yours,  my  Joy,  by  Livery  and  Seisin. 

Aug.  6th. 

I  wish  William  would  give  me  back  my 
Testament.  'Tis  one  Thing  to  steal  a 
Knot  or  a  Posie,  and  another  to  borrow 
the  most  valuable  Book  in  the  House,  and 
keep  it  Week  after  Week.  He  soughte  it 
with  a  Kind  of  Mysterie,  soe  as  that  J  for- 
beare  to  ask  it  of  him  in  Companie,  lest  I 
should  doe  him  an  ill  Turn  ;  and  yet  I  have 
none  other  Occasion. 

Alle    Parties    are   striving    whicb    shalj 


88  The  H ousel  told 

have  Erasmus,  and  allc  in  vayn.  E'en 
thus  it  was  with  him  when  he  was  here 
last, — the  Queen  would  have  had  him  for 
her  Preceptor,  the  Kiug  and  Cardinall 
prest  on  him  a  royall  Apartment  and  Sal- 
arie,  Oxford  and  Cambridge  contended  for 
him;  but  his  Saying  was,  "Alle  these  I 
value  less  than  my  Libertie,  my  Studdies, 
and  my  literarie  Toyls."  How  much  great- 
er is  he  than  those  who  woulde  confer  on 
him  Greatnesse !  Noe  Man  of  Letters 
hath  equall  Reputation,  or  is  soe  much 
courted. 

Aug.  7th. 
Yester-even,  after  overlooking  the  Men 
playing  at  Loggats,  Father  and  I  strayed 
away  along  Thcrmopyhe  into  the  Home- 
field  ;  and  as  we  sauntered  together  under 
the  Elms,  he  sayth  with  a  Sigh,  "  Jack  is 
Jack,  and  no  More  ....  he  will  never 
be  anything.  An'  'twere  not  for  my  be- 
loved Wenches,  I  should  be  an  unhappy 
Father.     But  what   though  ! — My  Meg  is 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  S9 

better  unto  me  than  ten  Sons  ;  and  it 
maketh  no  Difference  at  Harvest-time 
whether  our  Corn  were  put  into  the 
Ground  \>y  a  Man  or  a  Woman." 

While  I  was  turning  in  my  Mind  what 
Excuse  I  might  make  for  John,  Father 
taketh  me  at  unawares  by  a  sudden  Change 
of  Subject;  saying,  "Come,  tell  me,  Meg, 
why  canst  not  affect  Will  Roper •?" 

I  was  a  good  while  silent ;  at  lengthe 
made  Answer,  "  He  is  soe  unlike  alle  I 
esteeme  and  admire  ....  soe  unlike  alle 
I  have  been  taught  to  esteeme  and  admire 
by  you." 

"  Have  at  you,"  he  returned  laughing 
"  I  wist  not  I  had  been  sharpening  Weap- 
ons agaynst  myself.  True,  he  is  neither 
A chilles  nor  Hcclor,  nor  even  Paris;  but 
yet  well  enough,  meseems,  as  Times  go — 
smarter  and  comelier  than  either  Heron  or 
Dancey" 

I,  faltering,  made  Answer,  "Good  Looks 
affect  me  but  little — 'tis  in  his  better  Part 


90  The  Household 

I  feel  the  Want.  He  cannot  .  .  .  discourse, 
for  Instance,  to  one's  Mincl  and  Soul,  like 
unto  you,  dear  Father,  or  Erasmus? 

"  I  should  marvel  if  he  could,"  returned 
Father,  gravelie ;  "  thou  art  mad,  my 
Daughter,  to  look,  in  a  Youth  of  Will's 
Years,  for  the  Mind  of  a  Man  of  fifty, 
Wkat  were  Erasmus  and  I,  dost  thou  sup- 
pose, at  Wills  Age  ?  Alas,  Meg,  I  should 
not  like  you  to  know  what  I  was !  Men 
called  me  the  Boy-sage,  and  I  know  not 
what,  but  in  my  Heart  and  Head  was  a 
World  of  Sin  and  Folly.  Thou  mightst  as 
well  expect  Will  to  have  my  Hair,  Eyes, 
and  Teeth,  alle  getting  the  worse  for  Wear, 
as  to  have  the  Fruits  of  my  life-long  Expe- 
rience,— in  some  Cases  full  dearly  bought. 
Take  him  for  what  he  is,  match  him  by  the 
young  Minds  of  his  owne  standing  :  con- 
sider how  long  and  closelie  we  have  known 
him.  His  Parts  are,  surelie,  not  amiss  :  he 
hath  more  Book-lore  than  Dancey,  more 
mother  Wit  than  Allington." 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  9 1 

"  But  why  need  I  to  concern  myself  about 
him  ? "  I  exclaymed.  "  Will  is  very  well  in 
his  Way :  why  should  we  cross  each 
other's  Paths  ?  I  am  young,  I  have  much 
to  learn,  I  love  my  Studdies, — why  in- 
terrupt them  with  other  and  less  wise 
Thoughts  ? " 

"  Because  nothing  can  be  wise  that  is 
not  practical,"  returned  Father ;  "  and  I 
teach  my  Children  Philosophie  to  fitt  them 
for  living  in  the  World,  not  above  it.  One 
may  spend  a  Life  in  dreaming  over  Plato, 
and  yet  go  out  of  it  without  leaving  the 
World  a  Whit  the  better  for  our  having 
made  Part  of  it.  Tis  to  little  Purpose  we 
studdy,  if  it  onlie  makes  us  exact  Perfections 
in  others  which  they  may  in  vayn  seek  for 
in  ourselves.  It  is  not  even  necessary  or 
goode  for  us  to  live  entirelie  with  con- 
geniall  Spiritts.  The  vigourous  tempers 
the  inert,  the  passionate  is  evened  by  the 
cool-tempered,  the  prosaic  balances  the 
visionarie.     Woulde  thy  Mother   suit  me 


Q2  Tlie  Household 

better,  dost  thou  suppose,  if  she  coulde 
discuss  Polemicks  like  LutJicr  or  Melanc- 
thon  ?  E'en  thine  own  sweet  Mother,  Meg, 
was  less  affected  to  Studdy  than  thou  art, — ■ 
she  learnt  to  love  it  for  my  Sake,  but  I 
made  her  what  she  was." 

And,  with  a  suddain  Burste  of  fond 
Recollection,  he  hid  his  Eyes  on  my 
Shoulder,  and,  for  a  Moment  or  soe,  cried 
bitterlie.  As  for  me,  I  shed,  oh  !  such  salt 
Teares  !  .  .  . 

Aug.  17  th. 

Entering  o'  the  suddain  into  Mercy's 
Chamber,  I  founde  her  all  be-wept  and 
waped,  poring  over  an  old  Kirtle  of  Mother 's 
she  had  bidden  her  re-line  with  Buckram. 
Coulde  not  make  out  whether  she  were  sick 
of  her  Task,  had  had  Words  with  Mother, 
or  had  some  secret  Inquietation  of  her 
owne  ;  but,  as  she  is  a  Girl  of  few  Words, 
I  found  I  had  best  leave  her  alone  after  a 
Caress  and  kind  Saying  or  two.  We  alle 
have  our  Troubles. 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  93 

Wednesday,  igt/i. 

....  Trulie  may  I  say  soe.  Here  have 
they  ta'en  a  Fever  of  some  low  Sorte  in 
my  House  of  Refuge,  and  Mother,  fearing 
it  may  be  the  Sicknesse,  will  not  have  me 
goe  neare  it,  lest  I  shoulde  bring  it  home. 
Mercy,  hovvbeit,  hath  besought  her  soe  ear- 
nestlie  to  let  her  goe  and  nurse  the  Sick, 
that  Mother  hath  granted  her  Prayer,  on 
Condition  she  returneth  not  till  the  Fever 
bates  ....  thus  setting  her  Life  at  lower 
Value  than  our  owne.  Deare  Mercy !  I 
woulde  fayn  be  her  Mate. 

i\st. 

We  are  alle  mightie  glad  that  Rupert 
Alliiigton  hath  at  lengthe  zealouslie  em- 
braced the  Studdy  of  the  Law.  'Twas 
much  to  be  feared  at  the  Firste  there  was 
noe  Application  in  him  ;  and  though  we  alle 
pitied  him  when  Father  first  broughtc  him 
Home,  a  pillaged,  portionlesse  Client,  with 
none  other  to  espouse  his  Rightes,  yet  'twas 
a  Pitie  soone  allied  with   Contempt  when 


94  The  Household 

we  founde  how  emptie  he  was,  caring  for 
nought  but  Archerie  and  Skittles  and  the 
Popinjaye,  out  o'  the  House,  and  Dicing 
and  Tables  within,  which  Father  woulde  on 
noe  Excuse  permitt.  Soe  he  had  to  con- 
form, ruefullie  enow,  and  hung  piteousiie 
on  Hand  for  awhile.  I  mind  me  of  Bess's 
saying,  about  CJiristmasse,  "  Heaven  send 
us  open  Weather  while  Allington  is  here  ;  I 
don't  believe  he  is  one  that  will  bear  shut- 
ting up."  Howbeit,  he  seemed  to  incline 
towards  Daisy,  who  is  handsome  enow,  and 
cannot  be  hindered  of  Two  Hundred 
Pounds,  and  soe  he  kept  within  Bounds  ; 
and  when  Father  got  him  his  Cause,  he 
was  mightilie  thankfulle,  and  woulde  have 
left  us  out  of  Hand,  but  Father  persuaded 
him  to  let  his  Estate  recover  itself,  and  turn 
the  mean  Time  to  Profitt ;  and,  in  short,  soe 
wrought  on  him,  that  he  hath  now  become 
a  Student  in  righte  Earneste. 

22d. 

Soe  we  are  going  to  k>se  not  only  Mr 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  95 

Clement,  but  Mr.  Gunnel 7  How  sorrie  we 
alle  are  !  It  seemeth  he  hath  long  been 
debating  for  and  agaynst  the  Church,  and 
at  length  finds  his  Mind  soe  stronglie  set 
towards  it,  as  he  can  keep  out  of  it  noe 
longer.  Well !  we  shall  lose  a  good  Mas- 
ter, and  the  Church  will  gayn  a  good  Ser- 
vant. Drew  will  supplie  his  Place,  that  is, 
according  to  his  beste ;  but  our  worthy 
Welshman  careth  soe  little  for  young  Peo- 
ple, and  is  soe  abstract  from  the  World 
about  him,  that  we  shall  oft  feel  our  Loss. 
Father  hath  promised  Gonellns  his  Interest 
with  the  Cardinall. 

I  fell  into  Disgrace  for  holding  Speech 
with  Mercy  over  the  Pales,  but  she  is  con- 
fident there  is  noe  Danger;  the  Sick  are 
doing  well,  and  none  of  the  Whole  have 
fallen  sick.  She  sayth  Gammer  Gurney  is 
as  tender  of  her  as  if  she  were  her 
Daughter,  and  will  let  her  doe  noe  vile  or 
paynful  Office,  soe  as  she  hath  little  to  doe 
but  read  and  pray  for  the  poor  Souls,  and 


cj/6  The  Household 

feed  'cm  with  savourie  Messes  ;  and  they 
are  alle  so  harmonious  and  full  of  Cheer,  as 
to  be  like  Birds  in  a  Nest.  Mercy  deserves 
theire  Blessings  more  than  I.  Were  I  a 
free  Agent,  she  shoulde  not  be  alone  now, 
and  I  hope  ne'er  to  be  withheld  therefrom 
agayn. 

2,oth. 
Busied  with  my  Flowers  the  chief  o'  the 
Forenoon,  I  was  fayn  to  rest  in  the  Pavil- 
ion, when,  entering  therein,  whom  shoulde 
I  stumble  upon  but  William,  layd  at  length 
on  the  Floor,  with  his  Arms  under  his 
Head,  and  his  Booke  on  the  Ground.  I 
was  withdrawing  brisklie  enow,  when  he 
called  out,  "Don't  goe  away,  since  you  are 
here,"  in  a  Tone  soe  rough,  soe  unlike  his 
usuall  Key,  as  that  I  paused  in  a  Maze, 
and  then  saw  that  his  Eyes  were  red.  He 
sprung  to  his  Feet,  and  sayd,  "Meg,  come 
and  talk  to  me  ; "  and,  taking  my  Hand  in 
his,  stepped  quicklie  forthe  without  another 
Word  sayd,  till  we  reached  the  Elm-tree 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  97 

Walk.  I  marvelled  to  see  him  soe  moven, 
and  expected  to  hear  Somewhat  that 
shoulde  displease  me,  scarce  knowing 
what  ;  however,  I  might  have  guest  at  it 
from  then  till  now,  without  ever  nearing 
the  Truth.  His  first  Words  were,  "  I  wish 
Erasmus  had  ne're  crost  the  Thresholde ; 
he  has  made  me  very  unhappie ; "  then, 
seeing  me  stare,  "Be  not  his  Counsel  just 
now,  deare  Meg,  but  bind  up,  if  thou  canst, 
the  Wounds  he  has  made  ....  There 
be  some  Wounds,  thou  knowest,  though 
but  of  a  cut  Finger,  or  the  like,  that  we 
cannot  -well  bind  up  for  ourselves." 

I  made  Answer,  "  I  am  a  young  and  un- 
skilled Leech." 

He    replyed,    "But  you    have   a   quick 
Wit,  and    Patience,    and    Kindnesse,   and 
for   a  Woman,   are   not   scant   of  Learn 
ing." 

"  Nay,"  I  sayd,  "  but  Mr.  Gunnel—" 

"  Gunnel  would  be  the  last  to  help  me;" 

interrupts  Will,  "  nor  can  I  speak  to  your 

7 


98  The  Household 

Father.  He  is  alwaies  too  busie  now  .... 
besides, — " 

"  Father  Francis  ?  "  I  put  in. 

"  Father  Francis  ?  "  repeats  Will,  with  a 
Shake  o'  the  Head,  and  a  ruefulle  Smile ; 
dost  thou  think,  Meg,  he  coulde  answer  me 
if  I  put  to  him  Pilate's  Question,  '  What  is 
Truth  ? ' " 

"  We  know  alreadie,"  quoth  I. 

Sayth  Will,  "  What  doe  we  know  ? " 

I  paused,  then  made  Answer  reverentlie, 
"That  Jesus  is  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and 
the  Life." 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaymed,  clapping  his 
Hands  together  in  a  strange  Sort  of  Pas- 
sion ;  "  that  we  doe  know,  blessed  be  God  ; 
and  other  Foundation  can  or  ought  noe 
Man  to  lay  than  that  is  layd,  which  is 
Jesus  Christ.  But,  Meg,  is  this  the  Prin- 
ciple of  our  Church  ?  " 

"  Yea,  verilie,"  I  steadfastlie  replied. 

"  Then,  how  has  it  beene  overlayd,"  he 
hurriedlie  went    on,   "  with   Men's  Inven- 


of  Sir  Thus.  More.  eye 

lions  !  St.  Paul  speaks  of  a  Sacrifice  once 
offered:  we  holde  the  Host  to  be  a  con- 
tinuall  Sacrifice.  Holy  Writ  telleth  us, 
where  a  Tree  falls  it  must  lie :  we  are 
taughte  that  our  Prayers  may  free  Souls 
from  Purgatorie.  The  Word  sayth,  '  By 
Faith  ye  are  saved  : '  the  Church  sayth  we 
may  be  saved  by  our  Works.  It  is  written, 
'The  Idols  he  shall  utterly  abolish:'  we 
worship  Figures  of  Gold  and  Silver.  .  .  ." 

"  Hold,  hold  !  "  I  sayd  ;  "  I  dare  not 
listen  to  this.  .  .  .  You  are  wrong,  you 
know  you  are  wrong." 

"  How  and  where  ? "  he  sayth  ;  "  onlie 
tell  me.     I  long  to  be  put  righte." 

"  Our  Images  are  but  Symbols  cf  our 
Saints,"  I  made  answer  ;  "  'tis  onlie  the 
Ignorant  and  Unlearned  that  worship  the 
mere  Wood  and  Stone." 

"  But  why  worship  Saints  at  alle  ? "  per- 
sisted Will ;  "  where's  your  Warrant  for 
it  ? " 

I  sayd,    "  Heaver    '  as   warranted  it  by 


100  The  Household 

sundrie  and  speciall  Miracles  at  divers 
Times  and  Places.  I  may  say  to  you, 
Will,  as  Socrates  to  Agathon,  'You  may 
easilie  argue  agaynst  me,  but  you  cannot 
argue  agaynst  the  Truth.'  " 

"  Oh,  put  me  not  off  with  Plato"  he  im- 
patiently replyed,  "  refer  me  but  to  Holie 
Writ." 

"  How  can  I,"  quoth  I,  "  when  you  have 
ta'en  away  my  Testament  ere  I  had  half 
gone  through  it  ?  'Tis  this  Book,  I  fear 
me,  poor  Will,  hath  unsettled  thee.  Our 
Church,  indeede,  sayth  the  Unlearned 
wrest  it  to  theire  Destruction." 

"  And  yet  the  Apostle  sayth,"  rejoyned 
Will,  "  that  it  contayns  alle  Things  neces- 
sarie  to  our  Salvation." 

"  Doubtlesse  it  doth,  if  we  knew  but 
where  to  finde  them,"  I  replied. 

"  And  how  finde,  unlesse  we  seeke  ?  "  he 
pursued  ;  "  and  how  know  which  Road  to 
take,  when  we  finde  the  Scripture  and  the 
Church  at  Issue  ?" 


of  Sir  TJws.  More.  101 

"  Get  some  wiser  Head  to  advise  us,"  I 
rejoyned. 

"  But  an'  if  the  Obstacle  remains  the 
same  ? " 

"  I  cannot  suppose  that,"  I  somewhat 
impatientlie  returned ;  "  God's  Word  and 
God's  Church  must  agree  ;  'tis  only  we 
that  make  them  at  Issue." 

"  Ah,  Meg,  that  is  just  such  an  Answer 
as  Father  Francis  mighte  give — it  solves 
noe  Difficultie.  If,  to  alle  human  Reason, 
they  pull  opposite  Ways,  by  which  shall 
we  abide  ?  I  know  ;  I  am  certain.  '  Tu, 
Doviiife  Jesu,  es  yusticia  viea  !  '  " 

He  looked  so  rapt,  with  claspt  Hands 
and  upraysed  Eyes,  as  that  I  coulde  not  but 
look  on  him,  and  hear  him  with  Solemnitie. 
At  lengthe  I  sayd,  "  If  you  knowe  and  are 
certayn,  you  have  no  longer  anie  Doubts 
for  me  to  lay,  and  with  your  Will,  we  will 
holde  this  Discourse  noe  longer  ;  for  how- 
ever moving  and  however  considerable  its 
Subject  Matter  may  be,  it  approaches  for- 


io2  The  Household 

bidden  GicmnJ  too  nearlie  for  me  to  feel  il 
safe,  and  I  question  whether  it  saveureth  not 
nf  Heresie.  However,  Will,  I  most  hcarti- 
lie  pity  you,  and  will  pray  for  you." 

"  Do,  Meg,  do,"  he  rcplyed,  "  and  say 
nought  to  any  one  of  this  Matter." 

"  Indecdc  I  shall  not,  for  I  think  'twouldc 
bring  you,  if  not  me,  into  Trouble ;  but, 
since  thou  hast  soughte  my  Counsel,  Will, 
receive  it  now  and  take  it.  .  .  . 

He  sayth,  "What  is  it?" 

"  To  read  less,  pray  more,  fast,  and  uso. 
such  Discipline  as  our  Church  recommends, 
and  I  question  not  this  Temptation  will 
depart.     Make  a  fayr  Triall." 

And  soe,  away  from  him,  though  he 
woulde  fain  have  sayd  more.  And  I  have 
kept  mine  owne  Worde  of  praying  for  him 
full  earnestlie,  for  it  pitieth  me  to  see  him 

in  such  Case. 

Sept.  id. 
Poor  Will,  I  never  see  him  look  grave 
&ow,  nor  heare  him  sighe,  without  thinking 


pf  Sir  T/ios.  More.  103 

I  know  the  Cause  of  his  secret  Disconten- 
tation.  He  hath,  I  believe,  followed  my 
Counsel  to  the  Letter  ;  for  though  the  Men's 
Quarter  of  the  House  is  soe  far  aparte  from 
ours,  it  hath  come  rounde  to  me  through 
Barbara,  who  had  it  from  her  Brother,  that 
Mr.  Roper  hath  of  late  lien  on  the  Ground, 
and  used  a  knotted  Cord.  As  'tis  one  of 
the  Acts  of  Mercy  to  relieve  others,  when 
we  can,  from  Satanic  Doubts  and  Inquieta- 
tions,  I  have  been  at  some  Payns  to  make 
an  Abstracts  of  such  Passages  from  the 
Fathers,  and  such  Narratives  of  noted  and 
undeniable  Miracles  as  cannot,  I  think,  but 
carry  Conviction  with  them,  and  I  hope 
they  may  minister  to  his  Soul's  Comfort. 

Tuesday,  t^th. 
Supped  with  my  Lord  Sands.  Mother 
played  Mumchance  with  my  Lady  ;  but 
Father,  who  saith  he  woulde  rather  feast  a 
hundred  poor  Men  than  eat  at  one  rich 
Man's  Table,  came  not  in  till  late,  on  Plea  of 


104  The  Household 

Businesse.  My  Lord  told  him  the  King  had 
visitted  him  not  long  agone,  and  was  so  well 
content  with  his  Manor  as  to  wish  it  were 
his  owne,  for  the  singular  fine  Ayre  and 
pleasant  growth  of  Wood.  In  fine,  wound 
up  the  Evening  with  Musick.  My  Lady 
hath  a  pair  of  fine-toned  Clavichords,  and 
a  Mandoline  that  stands  five  Feet  high  ; 
the  largest  in  England,  except  that  of  the 
Lady  Mary  Dudley.  The  Sound,  indeede, 
is  powerful],  but  methinketh  the  Instrument 
ungaynlie  for  a  Woman.  Lord  Sands  sang 
us  a  new  Ballad,  "  The  Kings  Hunt's  up" 
which  Father  affected  hugelie.  I  lacked 
Spiritt  to  sue  my  Lord  for  the  Words,  he 
being  so  free-spoken  as  alwaies  to  dash  me  ; 
howbeit,  I  mind  they  ran  somewhat  thus... 

"  The  Hunt  is  up,  the  Hunt  is  tip, 
And  it  is  well  nigh  Daye, 
Harry  our  King  has  g07ie  Hunting 
To  bring  his  Deere  to  daye. 
The  East  is  bright  with  Morning  Lig7itef 
And  Darkness  it  is  fled, 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  105 

And  the  merrie  Horn  toakes  up  the  Morn 

To  leave  his  idle  Bed. 

Behold  the  Skies  with  golden  Dyes, 

*L  7  c?    •    •    •    . 

— The  Rest  hath  escaped  me,  albeit  I 
know  there  was  some  Burden  of  Hey-tan- 
tara,  where  my  Lord  did  stamp  and  snap 
his  Fingers.     He  is  a  merry  Heart. 

1524,  Oftober. 

Say  th  Lord  Rutland  to  my  Father,  in  his 
acute,  sneering  Way,  "  Ah,  ah,  Sir  Thomas, 
Uonores  mutant  Mores." 

"Not  so,  in  Faith,  my  Lord,"  returns  Fa- 
ther; "  but  have  a  Care  lest  we  translate  the 
Proverb,  and  say  Honours  change  Man- 


ners" 


It  served  him  right,  and  the  Jest  is  worth 
preserving,  because  'twas  not  premeditate, 
as  my  Lord's  very  likely  was,  but  retorted 
at  once,  and  in  Self-defence.  I  don't  be- 
lieve Honours  have  changed  the  Mores. 
As  Father   told  Mother,  there's  the  same 


106  The  Household 

Face  under  the  Hood.  Tis  comique,  too, 
the  Fulfilment  of  Erasmus  his  Prophecy. 
Plato's  Year  has  not  come  rounde,  but  they 
have  got  Father  to  Court,  and  the  King 
seems  minded  never  to  let  him  goe.  For 
us,  we  have  the  same  untamed  Spiritts  and 
unconstrayned  Course  of  Life  as  ever,  nei- 
ther lett  nor  hindered  in  ourdaylie  Studdies, 
though  we  dress  somewhat  braver,  and  see 
more  Companie.  Mothers  Head  was  a  lit- 
tle turned,  at  first,  by  the  Change  and  En- 
largement of  the  Householde  .  .  .  the  Ac- 
quisition of  Clerk  of  the  Kitchen,  Surveyor 
of  the  Dresser,  Yeoman  of  the  Pastrie,  etc. ; 
but,  as  Father  laughinglie  tolde  her,  the  In- 
crease of  her  Cares  soone  steddied  her 
Witts,  for  she  founde  she  had  twenty  Un- 
thrifts  to  look  after  insteade  of  half-a-dozen. 
And  the  same  with  himself.  His  Respon- 
sibilities are  so  increast,  that  he  grutches  at 
everie  Hour  the  Court  steals  from  his 
Family,  and  vows,  now  and  then,  he  will 
eave  off  joking,  that   the   King  may   tho 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  107 

sooner  wearie  of  him.  But  this  is  onlie  in 
Jest,  for  he  feels  it  is  a  Pozver  given  to  him 
over  lighter  Minds,  which  he  may  exert  to 
usefull  and  high  Purpose.  Onlie  it  keepeth 
him  from  needing  Damocles  his  Sword  ;  he 
trusts  not  in  the  Favour  of  Princes,  nor  in 
the  Voyce  of  the  People,  and  keeps  his 
Soul  as  a  weaned  Child.  'Tis  much  for  us 
now  to  get  an  Hour's  Leisure  with  him, 
and  makes  us  feel  what  our  olde  Privillesfes 
were  when  we  knew  'em  not.  Still,  I'm 
pleased  without  being  over  elated,  at  his 
having  risen  to  his  proper  Level. 

The  King  tooke  us  by  Surprise  this 
Morning  :  Mother  had  scarce  time  to  slip 
on  her  Scarlett  Gown  and  Coif,  ere  he  was 
in    the    House.      His   Grace   was  mio-htie 

o 

pleasant  to  all,  and,  at  going,  saluted  all 
rounde,  which  Bessy  took  humourouslie, 
Daisy  immoveablie,  Mercy  humblie,  I  dis- 
tastefullie,  and  Mother  delightedlie.  She 
calls  him  a  fine  Man  ;  he  is  indeede  big 
enoughe,  and  like  to  become  too  big ;  with 


roS  The  Household 

long  Slits  of  Eyes  that  gaze  fieelie  on  all, 
as  who  shoulde  say,  "  Who  dare  let  or  hin- 
der us  ? "  His  Brow  betokens  Sense  and 
Franknesse,  his  Eye-brows  are  supercilious, 
and  his  Cheeks  puffy.  A  rolling,  straddling 
Gait,  and  abrupt  Speech. 

Tother  Evening,  as  Father  and  I  were, 
unwontedly,  strolling  together  down  the 
Lane,  there  accosts  us  a  shabby,  poor  Fel- 
low, with  something  unsettled  in  his 
Eye.  .  .  . 

"  Master,  Sir  Knight,  and  may  it  please 
your  Judgeship,  my  Name  is  Patteson." 

"  Very  likely,"  says  Father,  "  and  my 
Name  is  More ;  but  what  is  that  to  the 
Purpose  ? " 

"  And  that  is  more  to  the  Purpose,  you 
mighte  have  sayd,"  returned  the  other.  - 

"  Why,  soe  I  mighte,"  says  Father;  "  but 
how  shoulde  I  have  proved  it  ? " 

"  You  who  are  a  Lawyer  shoulde  knew 
best  about  that,"  rejoined  the  poor  Knave ; 
"  'tis  too  hard  for  poor  Patteson." 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  log 

"Well,  but  who  are  you?"  says  Father, 

and  what  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"  Don't  you  mind  me  ?  "  says  Patteson,  "  I 
f  ayed  Hold-your-tongue,  last  Christmasse 
h  >vel  was  five  Years,  and  they  called  me  a 
sr-art  Chap  then  ;  but  last  Martinmasse  I 
fell  from  the  Church  Steeple,  and  shook  my 
Bra  n-pan,  I  think,  for  its  Contents  have 
seeded  addled  ever  since  ;  soe  what  I  want 
now  is  to  be  made  a  Fool." 

"  T  hen  you  are  not  one  already  ?  "  says 
Fat he>. 

"  If  t  were,"  says  Patteson,  "  I  shoulde 
not  have  come  to  you." 

"  Why,  Like  cleaves  to  Like,  you  know, 
they  say,"  says  Father. 

"Aye,"  says  'tother,  "but  I've  Reafon 
and  Feeling  enow,  too,  to  know  you  are  no 
Fool,  though  I  thoughte  you  might  want 
one.  Great  People  like  'em  at  their  Tables, 
I've  hearde  say,  though  I  am  sure  I  can't 
guesse  why,  for  it  makes  me  sad  to  see 
Fools  laughed  at ;  ne'erthelesse,  as  I  get 


1 10  The  Honseliold 

laughed  at  alreadie,  methinketh  1  may  as 
well  get  paid  for  the  Job,  if  I  can,  being 
unable  now  to  doe  a  Stroke  of  Work  in  hot 
Weather.  And  I'm  the  onlie  Son  of  my 
Mother,  and  she  is  a  Widow.  But,  perhaps, 
I'm  not  bad  enough." 

"I  know  not  that,  poor  Knave,"  says 
Father,  touched  with  quick  Pity ;  "  and,  for 
those  that  laugh  at  Fools,  my  Opinion,  Pat- 
teson,  is,  that  they  are  the  greater  Fools 
who  laugh.  To  tell  you  the  Truth,  I  had 
had  noe  Mind  to  take  a  Fool  into  mine  Es- 
tablishment, having  alwaies  had  a  Fancy 
to  be  prime  Fooler  in  it  myselfe  ;  however, 
you  incline  me  to  change  my  Purpose,  for, 
as  I  said  anon,  Like  cleaves  to  Like,  soe  I'll 
tell  you  what  we  will  doe — divide  the  Busi- 
nesse  and  go  Halves  :  I  continuing  the 
Fooling,  and  thou  receiving  the  Salary  ; 
that  is,  if  I  find,  on  Inquiry,  thou  art  given 
to  noe  Vice,  including  that  of  Scurrillitie." 

"  May  it  like  your  Goodness,"  says  pool 
Pattesen,  "  I've   been    the    Subject    oft  of 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  1 1 1 

Scurrillitie,  and  affect  it  too  little  to  offend 
that  Way  myself.  I  ever  keep  a  civil 
Tongue  in  my  Head,  'specially  among 
young  Ladies." 

"  That  minds  me,"  says  Father,  "  of  a 
Butler,  who  said  he  always  was  sober,  espe- 
cially when  he  had  only  water  to  drink. 
Can  you  read  and  write  ?  " 

"  Well,  and  what  if  I  cannot  ?  "  returns 
Patteson  ;  "  there  ne'er  was  but  one,  I  ever 
heard  of,  who  knew  Letters,  never  having 
learnt ;  and  well  he  mighte,  for  he  made 
them  that  made  them." 

"'Meg,  there  is  Sense  in  this  poor  Fel- 
low," says  Father;  "we  will  have  him 
Home,  and  be  kind  to  him." 

And,  sure  enow,  we  have  done  soe,  and 
been  soe,  ever  since. 

Tucs.  2$tk. 

A  Glance  at  the  anteceding  Pages  of 
this  Libellus  me-sheweth  poor  Will  Roper 
at  the  Season  his  Love-fitt  for  me  was  at 
its  Height.     He  troubleth  me  with  it  noe 


112  The  Household 

longer,  nor  with  his  religious  Disquieta 
tions.  Hard  Studdy  of  the  Law  hath  filled 
his  Head  with  other  Matters,  and  made 
him  infinitely  more  rationall,  and,  by  Con- 
sequents, more  agreeable.  'Twas  one  of 
those  Preferences  young  people  sometimes 
manifest,  themselves  know  neither  why  nor 
wherefore,  and  are  shamed  afterwards  to 
be  reminded  of.  I'm  sure  I  shall  ne'er 
remind  him.  There  was  nothing  in  me  to 
fix  a  rational  or  passionate  Regard.  I  have 
neither  Bess's  Witt  nor  white  Teeth,  nor 
Daisy  s  dark  Eyes,  nor  Mercy  s  Dimple.  A 
plain -favoured  Girl,  with  changefulle 
Spiritts, — that's  alle. 

26th. 
Pattesons  latest  Jest  was  taking  Prece 
dence  of  FatJier  yesterday  with  the  Saying, 
"  Give  Place,  Brother ;  you  are  but  Jester 
to  King  Harry,  and  I'm  Jester  to  Sir 
Thomas  More;  I'll  leave  you  to  decide 
which  «s  the  greater  Man  of  the  two." 


of  Sir  Titos.  More.  113 

*  Why,  Gossip,"  cries  Father,  "  his  Grace 
would  make  two  of  me." 

"  Not  a  Bit  of  it,"  returns  Patteson  ;  "  he's 
big  enow  for  two  such  as  you  are,  I  grant 
ye,  but  the  King  can't  make  two  of  you. 
No  !  Lords  and  Commons  may  make  a  King, 
but  a  King  can't  make  a  Sir  Thomas  More'* 

"  Yes,  he  can,"  rejoyns  Father,  "  he  can 
make  me  Lord  Chancellor,  and  then  he  will 
make  me  more  than  I  am  alreadie  ;  ergo, 
he  will  make  Sir  Thomas  more." 

"  But  what  I  mean  is,"  persists  the  Fool, 
"  that  the  King  can't  make  such  another  as 
you  are,  any  more  than  all  the  Kings 
Horses  and  all  the  King's  Men  can  put 
Humpty-dumpty  together  again,  which  is  an 
ancient  Riddle,  and  full  of  Marrow.  And 
soe  he'll  find,  if  ever  he  lifts  thy  Head  off 
from  thy  Shoulders,  which  God  forbid  ! " 

Father  delighteth  in  sparring  with  Pat- 
teson far  more  than  in  jesting  with  the 
King,  whom  he  alwaies  looks  on  as  a  Lion 
that  may,  any  Minute,  fall  on  him  and  rend' 


1 14  The  Household 

him  :  whereas,  with  'tother,  he  ungirds  his 
Mind.  Their  Banter  commonlie  exceeds 
not  Pleasantrie,  but  Patteson  is  ne'er  with- 
out an  Answer  ;  and  although,  maybe,  each 
amuses  himself  now  and  then  with  think- 
ing, "  I'll  put  him  up  with  such  a  Question," 
yet,  once  begun,  the  Skein  runs  off  the 
Reel  without  a  Knot,  and  shews  the  excel- 
lent Nature  of  both,  soe  free  are  they  alike 
from  Malice  and  Over-license.  Sometimes 
theire  Cuts  are  neater  than  common  List- 
eners apprehend.  I've  seene  Rupert  and 
Will,  in  fencing,  make  theire  Swords  flash 
in  the  Sun  at  every  Parry  and  Thrust  ; 
agayn,  owing  to  some  Change  in  mine  owne 
Position,  or  the  Decline  of  the  Sun,  the 
Scintillations  have  escaped  me,  though  I've 
known  theire  Rays  must  have  been  emit- 
ted in  some  Quarter  alle  the  same. 

Patteson,  with  one  of  Argus  s  cast  Fea- 
thers in  his  Hand,  is  at  this  Moment  be- 
neath my  Lattice,  astride  on  a  stone  Balus- 
trade ;  while  Bessy,  whom  he  much  affects, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  115 

is  sitting  on  the  Steps,  feeding  her  Pea- 
cocks. Sayeth  Patteson,  "  Canst  tell  me, 
Mistress,  why  Peacocks  have  soe  manie 
Eyes  in  theire  Tails,  and  yet  can  onlie  see 
with  two  in  theire  Heads  ?  " 

"  Because  those  two  make  them  soe  vain 
alreadie,  Fool,"  says  Bess,  "  that  were  they 
always  beholding  theire  owne  Glory,  they 
woulde  be  intolerable." 

"  And  besides  that,"  says  Patteson,  "  the 
less  we  see,  or  heare  either,  of  what  passes 
behind  our  Backs,  the  better  for  us,  since 
Knaves  will  make  Mouths  at  us  then,  for 
as  glorious  as  we  may  be.  Canst  tell  me, 
Mistress,  why  the  Peacock  was  the  last 
Bird  that  went  into  the  Ark  ?  " 

"  First  tell  me,  Fool,"  returns  Bess,  "how 
thou  knowest  that  it  was  so  ?  " 

"  Nay,  a  Fool  may  ask  a  Question  woulde 
puzzle  a  Wiseard  to  answer,"  rejoyns  Pat- 
teson ;  "  I  mighte  ask  you,  for  Example, 
where  they  got  theire  fresh  Kitchen-stuff 
in  the  Ark  ;  or  whether  the  Birds  ate  other 


1 1 6  The  Household 

than  Grains,  or  the  wild  Beasts  other  than 
Flesh.  It  needs  must  have  been  a  Gran- 
ary." 

"  We  ne'er  shew  ourselves  such  Fools," 
says  Bess,  "  as  in  seeking  to  know  more 
than  is  written.  They  had  enoughe,  if  none 
to  spare,  and  we  scarce  can  tell  how  little 
is  enoughe  for  bare  Sustenance  in  a  State 
of  perfect  Inaction.  If  the  Creatures  were 
kept  low,  they  were  alle  the  less  fierce." 

"Well  answered,  Mistress,"  says  Patteson. 
"  But  tell  me,  why  do  you  wear  two  Crosses  ? " 

"  Nay,  Fool,"  returns  Bess,  "  I  wear  but 
one." 

"  Oh,  but  I  say  you  wear  two,"  says  Pat- 
teson ;  "  one  at  your  Girdle,  and  one  that 
nobody  sees.  We  alle  wear  the  unseene 
one,  you  know.  Some  have  theirs  of  Gold, 
alle  carven  and  shaped,  soe  as  you  hardlie 
tell  it  for  a  Cross.  .  .  .  like  my  Lord  Car- 
dinal!, for  Instance.  .  .  .  but  it  is  one,  for 
alle  that.  And  others,  of  Iron,  that  eateth 
into  theire  Hearts.  .  .  .  methinketh  Master 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  1 1 ) 

Roper's  must  be  one  of  'em.  For  me,  I'm 
content  with  one  of  Wood,  like  that  our 
deare  Lord  bore  :  what  was  good  enow  for 
Him  is  good  enow  for  me  ;  and  I've  noe 
Temptation  to  shew  it,  as  it  isn't  fine,  nor 
yet  to  chafe  at  it  for  being  rougher  than 
my  Neighbour's,  nor  yet  to  make  myself  a 
second,  because  it  is  not  hard  enow.  Doe 
you  take  me,  Mistress  ? " 

"  I  take  you  for  what  you  are,"  says  Bess, 
"  a  poor  Fool." 

"  Nay,  Niece"  says  Patteson,  " my  Bro- 
ther, your  Father,  hath  made  me  rich." 

"  I  mean,"  says  Bess,  "  you  have  more 
Wisdom  than  Witt,  and  a  real  Fool  has 
neither,  therefore  you  are  onlie  a  make- 
believe  Fool." 

"Well,  there  are  many  make-believe 
Sages,"  says  Patteson  ;  "  for  mine  owne  Part, 
I  never  aim  to  be  thoughte  a  Hiccius  Doc- 
cms. 

"  A  hie  est  doclas,  Fool,  you  mean,"  inter- 
rupts Bess. 


1 1 8  The  Household 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  rejoins  Patteson,  "  since 
other  Folks  soe  oft  know  better  what  we 
mean  than  we  know  ourselves.  Alle  I 
woulde  saye  is,  I  ne'er  set  up  for  a  Conju- 
ror. One  can  see  as  far  into  a  Millstone  as 
other  People,  without  being  that.  For  Ex- 
ample, when  a  Man  is  overta'en  with 
Qualms  of  conscience  for  having  married 
his  Brother's  Widow,  when  she  is  noe 
longer  soe  young  and  fair  as  she  was  a 
Score  of  Years  ago,  we  know  what  that's  a 
Sign  of.  And  when  an  Ipswich  Butcher's 
Son  takes  on  him  the  state  of  my  Lord 
Pope,  we  know  what  that's  a  Sign  of. 
Nay,  if  a  young  Gentlewoman  become 
dainty  at  her  Sizes,  and  sluttish  in  her  Ap 
parel,  we  ...  as  I  live,  here  comes  Master 
Heron,  with  a  Fish  in's  Mouth." 

Poor  Bess  involuntarilie  turned  her  Head 
quicklie  towards  the  Watergate  ;  on  which, 
Patteson,  laughing  as  he  lay  on  his  Back, 
points  upward  with  his  Peacock's  Feather, 
and  cries,  "  Overhead,  Mistress  !  see,  there 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  1 1 9 

he  goes.  Sure,  you  lookt  not  to  see  Giles 
Heron  making  towards  us  between  the 
Posts  and  Flower-pots,  eating  a  dried 
Ling  ? "  laughing  as  wildlie  as  though  he 
were  verilie  a  Natural. 

Bess,  without  a  Word,  shooke  the  Crumbs 
from  her  Lap,  and  was  turning  into  the 
House,  when  he  withholds  her  a  Minute  in 
a  perfectly  altered  Fashion,  saying,  "  There 
be  some  Works,  Mistress,  our  Confessors 
tell  us  be  Works  of  Supererogation  ...  is 
not  that  the  Word  ?  I  learne  a  long  one 
now  and  then  .  .  .  Such  as  be  setting  Food 
before  a  full  Man,  or  singing  to  a  deaf  one, 
or  buying  for  one's  Pigs  a  silver  Trough, 
or,  for  the  Matter  of  that,  casting  Pearls 
before  a  Dunghill  Cock,  or  fishing  for  a 
Heron,  which  is  well  able  to  fish  for  itself, 
and  is  an  ill-natured  Bird  after  alle,  that 
pecks  the  Hand  of  his  Mistress,  and,  for 
alle  her  Kindness  to  him,  will  not  think  of 
Bessy  more." 


120  The  Household 

How  apt  alle  arc  to  abuse  unlimited  Li- 
cense!    Yet  'was  good  Counsel. 

1525,  July  2d. 
....  Soe  my  Fate  is  settled  !  Who 
knoweth  at  Sunrise  what  will  chance  before 
Sunsett  ?  No  ;  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
mighte  speake  of  Chance  and  of  Fate,  but 
we  must  not.  RutJis  Hap  was  to  light  on 
the  Field  of  Boaz:  but  what  she  thought 
casual,  the  Lord  had  contrived. 

Firste,  he  gives  me  the  Marmot.  Then, 
the  Marmot  dies.  Then,  I,  having  kept 
the  Creature  soe  long,  and  being  naturallie 
tender,  must  cry  a  little  over  it.  Then 
Will  must  come  in,  and  find  me  drying 
mine  Eyes.  Then  he  must,  most  unrea- 
sonable, suppose  that  I  could  not  have 
loved  the  poor  Animal  for  its  owne  Sake 
soe  much  as  for  his  ;  and,  thereupon,  falle 
a  love-making  in  such  downrighte  Ear- 
neste,  that  I,  being  alreadie  somewhat 
upset,  and  knowing  'tvvoulde  please  Fatkct 


of  Sir  Titos.  More.  1 2 1 

.  .  and  hating  to  be  perverse,  .  .  .  and 
thinking  much  better  of  Will  since  he 
hath  studdied  soe  hard,  and  given  soe 
largelie  to  the  Poor,  and  left  off  broaching 
his  heteroclite  Opinions  ...  I  say,  I  sup- 
posed it  must  be  soe,  some  Time  or  an- 
other, soe  'twas  noe  Use  hanging  back  for 
ever  and  ever  ;  soe  now  there's  an  End, — 
and  I  pray  God  give  us  a  quiet  Life. 

Noe  one  woulde  suppose  me  reckoning 
on  a  quiet  Life  if  they  knew  how  I've  cried 
alle  this  Forenoon,  ever  since  I  got  quit  of 
Will,  by  Fathers  carrying  him  off  to  West- 
minster. He'll  tell  Father,  I  know,  as  they 
goe  along  in  the  Barge,  or  else  coming 
back,  which  will  be  soone  now,  though  I've 
ta'en  no  Heed  of  the  Hour.  I  wish  'twere 
cold  Weather,  and  that  I  had  a  sore  Throat 
or  stiff  Neck,  or  somewhat  that  might  rea- 
sonablie  send  me  a-bed,  and  keep  me  there 
till  to-morrow  morning.  But  I'm  quite 
well,  and  'tis  the  Dog-days,  and  Cook  is 
thumping  the  Roiling-pin  on  the  Dresser 


122  The  Household 

and    Dinner    is    being    served, —  and    here 
comes  Father. 

Sept.  1528. 

Father  hath  had  some  Words  with  the 
Cardinall.  'Twas  touching  the  Draught  of 
some  forayn  Treaty  which  the  Cardinall 
offered  for  his  Criticism,  or  rather,  for  his 
Commendation,  which  Father  could  not 
give.  This  nettled  his  Grace,  who  ex- 
claimed,— "  By  the  Mass,  thou  art  the 
veriest  Fool  of  alle  the  Council ! "  Father, 
smiling,  rejoined,  "  God  be  thanked,  that 
the  King,  our  Master,  hath  but  one  Fool 
therein." 

The  Cardinall  may  rage,  but  he  can't 
rob  him  of  the  royal  Favour.  The  King 
was  here  yesterday,  and  walked  for  an 
Hour  or  soe  about  the  Garden  with  his 
Arm  round  Father  s  Neck.  Will  coulde 
not  help  felicitating  Father  upon  it  after- 
wards ;  to  which  Father  made  Answer,  "  I 
thank  God  I  find  his  Grace  my  very  good 
Lord    indeede,  and    I  believe  he   doth  as 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  123 

singularlie  favour  me  as  any  Subject 
within  this  Realm.  Howbeit,  Son  Roper, 
I  may  tell  thee  betweene  ourselves,  I  feel 
no  Cause  to  be  proud  thereof;  for  if  my 
Head  would  win  him  a  Castle  in  France, 
it  shoulde  not  fail  to  fly  off." 

— Father  is  graver  than  he  used  to  be. 
No  Wonder.  He  hath  much  on  his  Minde  ; 
the  Calls  on  his  Time  and  Thoughts  are 
beyond  Belief:  but  God  is  very  good  to 
him.  His  Favour  at  Home  and  Abroad  is 
immense :  he  hath  good  Health,  soe  have 
we  alle ;  and  his  Family  are  established  to 
his  Mind,  and  settled  alle  about  him,  still 
under  the  same  fostering  Roof.  Consider- 
ing that  I  am  the  most  ordinarie  of  his 
Daughters,  'tis  singular  I  shoulde  have 
secured  the  best  Husband.  Daisy  lives 
peaceablie  with  Rupert  Allington,  and  is  as 
indifferent,  me  seemeth,  to  him  as  to  alle 
the  World  beside.  He,  on  his  Part,  loves 
her  and  theire  Children  with  Devotion,  and 
woulde  pass  half  his  Time  in  the  Nurserie 


124  The  Household 

Dancey  always  had  a  hot  Temper,  anl  now 
and  then  plagues  Bess ;  but  she  lets  noe 
one  know  it  but  me.  Sometimes  she  comes 
into  my  Chamber,  and  cries  a  little  ;  but 
the  next  kind  Word  brightens  her  up,  and 
I  verilie  believe  her  Pleasures  far  exceed 
her  Payns.  Giles  Heron  lost  her  through 
his  own  Fault,  and  mighte  have  regayned 
her  good  Opinion  after  alle,  had  he  taken 
half  the  Pains  for  her  Sake  he  now  takes 
for  her  younger  Sister.  I  cannot  think 
how  Cecy  can  favour  him  ;  yet  I  suspect  he 
will  win  her,  sooner  or  later.  As  to  mine 
owne  deare  Will,  'tis  the  kindest,  purest 
Nature,  the  finest  Soul,  the  .  .  .  and  yet 
how  I  was  senselesse  enow  once  to  under- 
value him ! 

Yes,  I  am  a  happy  Wife ;  a  happy 
Daughter ;  a  happy  Mother.  When  my 
little  Bill  stroaked  dear  Fathers  Face  just 
now,  and  murmured  "  Pretty ! "  he  burst 
out  a-laughing,  and  cried, — 

"You   are   like  the  young   Cyrus,   who 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  125 

exclaimed, — 'Oh!  Mother,  how  pretty  is 
my  Grandfather ! '  And  yet,  according 
to  Xenophon,  the  -  old  Gentleman  was 
soe  rouged  and  made  up,  as  that  none 
but  a  Childe  woulde  have  admired  him  ! " 

"  That's  not  the  Case,"  I  observed,  "  with 
Bill's  Grandfather." 

"He's  a  More  all  over,"  says  Father, 
fondly.  "  Make  a  Pun,  Meg,  if  thou  canst, 
about  Amor,  Amo7-e,  or  Amores.  'Twill 
onlie  be  the  thousand  and  first  on  our 
Name.  Here,  little  Knave,  see  these 
Cherries :  tell  me  who  thou  art,  and  thou 
shalt  have  one.  ' More !  More!'  I  knew 
it,  sweet  Villain.     Take  them  all." 

I  oft  sitt  for  an  Hour  or  more,  watching 
Hans  Holbien  at  his  Brush.  He  hath  a  rare 
Gift  of  limning;  and  has,  besides,  the  Ad- 
vantage of  deare  Erasmus  his  Recommen- 
dation, for  whom  he  hath  alreddie  painted 
our  Likenesses,  but  I  think  he  has  made  us 
very  ugly.  His  Portraiture  of  my  Grand- 
father is  marvellous ;  ne'erthelesse,  I  look 


126  The  Household 

in  vayn  for  the  Spirituallitie  which  out 
Lucchese  Friend,  Antonio  Bonvisi,  tells  us 
is  to  be  founde  in  the  Productions  of  the 
Italian  Schools. 

Holbein  loves  to  paint  with  the  Lighte 
coming  in  upon  his  Work  from  above.  He 
says  a  Lighte  from  above  puts  Objects  in 
theire  proper  Lighte,  and  shews  theire  just 
Proportions  ;  a  Lighte  from  beneath  rever- 
ses alle  the  naturall  Shadows.  Surelie,  this 
hath  some  Truth  if  we  spiritualize  it. 

Rupert's  Cousin,  Rosamond  Allington,  is 
our  Guest.  She  is  as  beautiful  as  .  .  .  not 
as  an  Angel,  for  she  lacks  the  Look  of 
Goodness,  but  very  beautiful  indeede.  She 
cometh  hither  from  Hever  Castle,  her  Ac- 
count of  the  Affairs  whereof  I  like  not. 
Mistress  Anne  is  not  there  at  present ;  in- 
deede, she  is  now  always  hanging  about 
Court,  and  followeth  somewhat  too  literallie 
the  scriptural  Injunction  to  Solomons 
Spouse — to    forget    her   Father's    House 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  127 

The  King  likes  well  enow  to  be  compared 
with  Solomon,  but  Mistress  Anne  is  not  his 
Spouse  yet,  nor  ever  will  be,  I  hope.  Flat- 
tery and  Frenchified  Habitts  have  spoilt 
her,  I  trow. 

Rosamond  says  there  is  not  a  good  Cham- 
ber in  the  Castle ;  even  the  Ball-room,  which 
is  on  the  upper  Floor  of  alle,  being  narrow 
and  low.  On  a  rainy  Day,  long  ago,  she 
and  Mistress  Anne  were  playing  at  Shuttle- 
cock therein,  when  Rosamond 's  Foot  trip- 
ped at  some  Unevennesse  in  the  Floor,  and 
Mistress  Anne,  with  a  Laugh,  cried  out, 
"  Mind"  you  goe  not  down  into  the  Dun- 
geon " — then  pulled  up  a  Trap-door  in  the 
Ball-room  Floor,  by  an  iron  Ring,  and  made 
Rosamond  look  down  into  an  unknown 
Depth,  alle  in  the  Blacknesse  of  Darkness. 
'  Tis  an  awfulle  Thing  to  have  onlie  a  Step 
from  a  Ball-room  to  a  Dungeon  !  I'm  glad 
we  live  in  a  modern  House ;  we  have  noe 
such  fearsome  Sights  here. 


128  Tin  Household 

Sept.  26///. 

How  many,  many  Tears  have  I  shed 
Poor,  imprudent  Will ! 

To  think  of  his  Escape  from  the  Car- 
dinalVs  Fangs,  and  yet  that  he  will  pro- 
bablie  repeat  the  Offence  !  This  Morning 
Father  and  he  had  a  long,  and,  I  fear  me, 
fruitless  Debate  in  the  Garden ;  on  re- 
turning from  which,  Father  took  me  afide 
and  sayd, — 

"Meg,  I  have  borne  a  long  Time  with 
thine  Husband  ;  I  have  reasoned  and  ar- 
gued with  him,  and  still  give  him  my  poor, 
fatherly  Counsel ;  but  I  perceive  none  of 
alle  this  can  call  him  Home  agayn.  And 
therefore,  Meg,  I  will  noe  longer  dispute 
with  him."  ..."  Oh,  Father!  "...  "  Nor 
yet  will  I  give  him  over ;  but  I  will  set  an- 
other Way  to  work,  and  get  me  to  God, 
and  pray  for  him." 

And  have  not  I  done  so  alreadie  ? 

2jth. 
I   feare  me   they  parted  unfriendlie  j    ( 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  129 

hearde  Father  say,  "Thus  much  I  have  a 
Right  to  bind  thee  to,  that  thou  indoc- 
trinate not  her  in  thine  owne  Herefies. 
Thou  shalt  not  imperill  the  Salvation  of 
my  Child  ! " 

Since  this  there  has  been  an  irresistible 
Gloom  on  our  Spiritts,  a  Cloud  between e 
my  Husband's  Soul  and  mine,  without  a 
Word  spoken.  I  pray,  but  my  Prayers 
seem  dead. 

Thurs.  2%th. 

....  Last  Night,  after  seeking  unto  this 
Saint  and  that,  methoughte,  "  Why  not  ap- 
plie  unto'  the  Fountain  Head  ?  Maybe  these 
holie  Spiritts  may  have  Limitations  sett  to 
the  Power  of  theire  Intercessions — at  anie 
Rate,  the  Ears  of  Mary-mother  are  open  to 
alle." 

Soe  I  beganne,  "  Eia  mater,  fons  amo- 
*ns 

Then  methoughte,  "  But  I  am  onlie  ask- 
ing her  to  intercede — I'll  mount  a  Step 
higher  still."  .... 


1 30  The  Household 

Then  I  turned  to  the  greate  Intercessoi 
of  alle.  But  methoughte,  "  Still  he  inter- 
cedes with  another,  although  the  same. 
And  his  owne  Saying  was,  '  In  that  Day 
ye  shall  ask  Die  nothing.  Whatsoever  ye 
shall  ask  in  my  Name,  He  will  give  it  you.' " 
Soe  I  did. 

I  fancy  I  fell  asleep  with  the  Tears  on 
my  Cheek.  Will  had  not  come  up  Stairs. 
Then  came  a  heavie,  heavie  Sleep,  not  such 
as  giveth  Rest ;  and  a  dark,  wild  Dream. 
Methoughte  I  was  tired  of  waiting  for  Will, 
and  became  alarmed.  The  Night  seemed 
a  Month  long  ;  and  at  last  I  grew  soe  weary 
of  it,  that  I  arose,  put  on  some  Clothing, 
and  went  in  search  of  him  whom  my  Soul 
loveth.  Soon  I  founde  him,  sitting  in  a 
Muse;  and  said,  "  Will,  deare  Will?"  but 
he  hearde  me  not ;  and,  going  up  to  touch 
him,  I  was  amazed  to  be  broughte  short  up 
or  ever  I  reached  him,  by  Something  invi- 
sible betwixt  us,  hard,  and  cleare,  and  colde, 
....  in  short,  a  Wall  of  Ice  !     Soe  it  seemed 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  131 

in  my  strange  Dream.  I  pushed  at  it,  but 
coulde  not  move  it ;  called  to  him,  but 
coulde  not  make  him  hear :  and  all  the 
While  my  Breath,  I  suppose,  raised  a  Va- 
pour on  the  glassy  Substance,  that  grew 
thicker  and  thicker,  soe  as  slowlie  to  hide 
him  from  me.  I  coulde  discerne  his  Head 
and  Shoulders,  but  not  see  down  to  his 
Heart.  Then  I  shut  mine  Eyes  in  Des- 
pair, and  when  I  opened  'em,  he  was  hidden 
altogether. 

Then  I  prayed.  I  put  my  hot  Brow 
agaynst  the  Ice,  and  I  kept  a  weeping  hot 
Tears,  and  the  warm  Breath  of  Prayer  kept 
issuing  from  my  Lips  ;  and  still  I  was  per- 
sisting, when,  or  ever  I  knew  how,  the  Ice 
beganne  to  melt !  I  felt  it  giving  Way ! 
and,  looking  up,  coulde  in  joyful le  Surprize 
just  discerne  the  Lineaments  of  a  Figure 
close  at  t'other  Side  ;  the  Face  turned  away, 
but  yet  in  the  Guise  of  listening.  And, 
Images  being  apt  to  seem  magnified  and 
distorted  through  Vapours,  methought  'twas 


132  The  Household 

altogether  bigger  than  Will,  yet  himself, 
nothingthelesse ;  and,  the  Barrier  between 
us  having  sunk  away  to  Breast-height,  I 
layd  mine  Hand  on's  Shoulder,  and  he 
turned  his  Head,  smiling,  though  in  Si- 
lence ;  and  ....  oh,  Heaven !  'twas  not 
Will,  but . 

What  coulde  I  doe,  even  in  my  Dreame, 
but  fall  at  his  Feet  ?  What  coulde  I  doe, 
waking,  but  the  same  ?  '  Twas  Grey  of 
Morn  ;  I  was  feverish  and  unrefreshed,  but 
I  wanted  noe  more  lying  a-bed.  Will  had 
arisen  and  gone  forthe,  and  I,  as  quicklie  as 
I  coulde  make  myself  readie,  sped  after  him. 

I  know  not  what  I  expected,  nor  what  I 
meant  to  say.  The  Moment  I  opened  the 
Door  of  his  Closett,  I  stopt  short.  There 
he  stoode,  in  the  Centre  of  the  Chamber, 
his  Hand  resting  flat  on  an  open  Book,  his 
Head  raised  somewhat  up,  his  Eyes  fixed 
on  Something  or  some  One,  as  though  in 
speaking  Communion  with  'em  ;  his  whole 
Visage  lightened  up  and  glorify de  with  an 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  133 

unspeakable  Calm  and  Grandeur  that 
seemed  to  transfigure  him  before  me ;  and, 
when  he  hearde  my  Step,  he  turned  about, 
and  'steade  of  histing  me  away,  helde  out 

his  Arms We  parted  without  neede 

to  utter  a  Word. 

June,  1530. 
Events  have  followed  too  quick  and  thick 
for  me  to  note  'em.  Firste,  Fathers  Em- 
bassade  to  Cambray,  which  I  shoulde  have 
grieved  at  more  on  our  owne  Accounts,  had 
it  not  broken  off  alle  further  Collision  with 
Will.  Thoroughlie  homesick,  while  abroad, 
poor  Father  was  ;  then,  on  his  Return,  he 
noe  sooner  sett  his  Foot  a-land,  than  the 
King  summoned  him  to  Woodstock.  'Twas 
a  Couple  o'  Nights  after  he  left  us,  that 
Will  and  I  were  roused  by  Patteson  s  shout- 
ing beneath  our  Window,  "  Fire,  Fire, 
quoth  Jeremiah /"  and  the  House  was  a- 
fire,  sure  enow.  Greate  Part  of  the  Men's 
Quarter,  together  with  alle  the  Out-houses 
and    Barns,   consumed   without    Remedie : 


1 34  The  Household 

and  alle  through  the  Carelessnesse  of  John 
Holt.  Howbeit,  noe  Lives  were  lost,  nor 
any  one  much  hurt.  And  we  thankfullie 
obeyed  deare  Fathers  Behests,  so  soone  as 
we  received  the  same, — that  we  woulde  get 
us  to  Church,  and  there,  upon  our  Knees, 
return  humble  and  hearty  Thanks  to  Al- 
mighty God  for  our  late  Deliverance  from 
a  fearfulle  Death.  Alsoe,  at  Fathers  desire, 
we  made  up  to  the  poor  People  on  our 
Premises  theire  various  Losses,  which  he 
bade  us  doe,  even  if  it  left  him  without  so 
much  as  a  Spoon. 

But  then  came  an  equallie  unlookt-for, 
and  more  appalling  Event — the  Fall  of  my 
Lord  Cardinal/ ;  whereby  my  Father  was 
shortlie  raised  to  the  highest  Pinnacle  of 
professional  Greatnesse,  being  made  Lord 
Chancellor — to  the  Content,  in  some  Sort, 
of  Wolsey  himself,  who  sayd  he  was  the 
onlie  Man  fit  to  be  his  Successor. 

The  unheard-of  Splendour  of  his  Instal- 
lation dazzled  the  Vulgar  ;  while  the  Wis 


of  Sir  Tlios.  More.  135 

dom  that  marked  the  admirable  Discharge 
of  his  daylie  Duties  won  the  Respect  of 
alle  thinking  Men,  but  surprized  none  who 
alreadie  knew  Father.  On  the  Day  suc- 
ceeding his  being  sworn  in,  Patteson 
marched  hither  and  thither,  bearing  a 
huge  Placard,  inscribed,  "  Partnership  Dis- 
solved ; "  and  apparelled  himself  in  an  old 
Suit,  on  which  he  had  bestowed  a  Coating 
of  black  Paint,  with  Weepers  of  white 
Paper ;  assigning  for't  that  "  his  Brother 
was  dead."  "For  now,"  quoth  he,  "that 
they've  made  him  Lord  Chancellor,  "we 
shall  ne'er  see  Sir  Thomas  more." 

Now,  although  the  poor  Cardinall  was 
commonlie  helde  to  shew  much  Judgment 
in  his  Decisions,  owing  to  the  naturall 
Soundness  of  his  Understanding,  yet,  being 
noe  Lawyer,  Abuses  had  multiplied  during 
his  Chancellorship,  more  especiallie  in  the 
Way  of  enormous  Fees  and  Gratuities. 
Father,  not  content  with  shunning  base 
Lucre   in  his   proper  Person,  will  not  let 


13^  The  Household 

anie  one  under  him,  to  his  Knowledge, 
touch  a  Bribe  ;  whereat  Dancey,  after  his 
tunny  Fashion,  complains,  saying, — 

"  The  Fingers  of  my  Lord  Cardinal? s 
veriest  Door-keepers  were  tipt  with  Gold, 
but  I,  since  I  married  your  Daughter, 
have  got  noe  Pickings ;  which  in  your 
Case  may  be  commendable,  but  in  mine 
is  nothing  profitable." 

Father,  laughing,  makes  Answer, — 
"  Your  C^se  is  hard,  Son  Dancey,  but  I  can 
onlie  say,  for  your  Comfort,  that,  soe  far 
as  Honesty  and  Justice  are  concerned,  if 
mine  owne  Father,  whom  I  reverence 
dearly,  stoode  before  me  on  the  one 
Hand,  and  the  Devil,  whom  I  hate  ex- 
tremely, on  the  other,  yet,  the  Cause  of 
the  latter  being  just,  I  shoulde  give  the 
Devil  his  Due." 

Giles  Heron  hath  found  this  to  his  Cost. 
Presuming  on  his  near  Connexion  with  my 
Father,  he  refused  an  equitable  Accommo- 
dation of  a  Suit,  which,  thereon,  coming 


of  Sir  Thus.  More.  137 

into  Court,  Fathers  Decision  was  given  flat 
agaynst  him. 

His  Decision  agaynst  Mother  was 
equallie  impartiall,  and  had  Something 
comique  in  it.  Thus  it  befelle. — A  Beg- 
gar-woman's little  Dog,  which  had  beene 
stolen  from  her,  was  offered  my  Mother  for 
Sale,  and  she  bought  it  for  a  Jewel  of  no 
greate  Value.  After  a  Week  or  soe,  the 
Owner  finds  where  her  Dog  is,  and  cometh 
to  make  Complaynt  of  the  Theft  to  Father, 
then  fitting  in  his  Hall.  Sayth  Father, 
"  Let's  have  a  faire  Hearing  in  open  Court ; 
thour  Mistress,  stand  there  were  you  be, 
to  have  impartial  Justice ;  and  thou, 
Dame  Alice,  come  up  hither,  because 
thou  art  of  the  higher  Degree.  Now 
then,  call  each  of  you  the  Puppy,  and  see 
which  he  will  follow."  Soe  Sweetheart,  in 
spite  of  Mother,  springs  off  to  the  old  Beg- 
gar-woman, who,  unable  to  keep  from 
laughing,  and  yet  moved  at  Mothers  Losse, 
sayth,— 


138  The  Hcv  sehold 

"  Tell  'ee  what,  Mistress  ....  thee  shalt 
have  'un  for  a  Groat." 

"Nay,"  sayth  Mother,  "I  won't  mind 
giving  thee  a  Piece  of  Gold;"  soe  the 
Bargain  was  satisfactorily  concluded. 

Fathers  Despatch  of  Businesse  is  such, 
that,  one  Morning  before  the  End  of  Term, 
he  was  tolde  there  was  noe  other  Cause 
nor  Petition  to  be  sett  before  him ;  the 
which,  being  a  Case  unparalleled,  he  de- 
sired mighte  be  formally  recorded. 

He  ne'er  commences  Businesse  in  his 
owne  Court  without  first  stepping  into  the 
Court  of  Kings  Bench,  and  there  kneeling 
downe  to  receive  my  Grandfather's  Bless- 
ing. Will  sayth  'tis  worth  a  World  to  see 
the  Unction  with  which  the  deare  old  Man 
bestows  it  on  him. 

In  Rogation-week,  following  the  Rood 
as  usuall  round  the  Parish,  Her-on  counsel- 
led him  to  go  a  Horseback  for  the  greater 
Seemlinesse;  but  he  made  Answer  that 
'twoulde    be    unseemlie    indeede   for   the 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  139 

Servant  to  ride,  after  his  Master  going 
a-foot. 

His  Grace  of  Norfolk,  coming  yesterday 
to  dine  with  him,  finds  him  in  the  Church- 
choir,  singing,  with  a  Surplice  on. 

"  What !  "  cries  the  Duke,  as  they  walk 
Home  together,  "  My  Lord  Chancellor 
playing  the  Parish-clerk  ?  Sure,  you  dis- 
honour the  King  and  his  Office." 

"  Nay,"  says  Father,  smiling,  "  your  Grace 
must  not  deem  that  the  King,  your  Master 
and  mine,  will  be  offended  at  my  honouring 
his  Master." 

Sure,  'tis  pleasant  to  heare  Father  taking 
the  upper  Hand  of  these  great  Folks  :  and 
to  have  'em  coming  and  going,  and  waiting 
his  Pleasure,  because  he  is  the  Man  whom 
the  King  delighteth  to  honour. 

True,  indeed,  with  Wolsey  'twas  once  the 
same  ;  but  Father  neede  not  feare  the  same 
Ruin  ;  because  he  hath  Him  for  his  Friend, 
whom  Wolsey  sayd  woulde  not  have  for- 
saken   him,   had   he    served    Him   as    he 


140  The  Household 

served  his  earthly  Master.  'Twas  a  mis- 
proud  Priest ;  and  there's  the  Truth  on't. 
And  FatJier  is  not  misproud  ;  and  I  don't 
believe  we  are — though  proud  of  him  we 
cannot  fail  to  be. 

And  I  know  not  why  we  may  not  be 
pleased  with  Prosperitie,  as  well  as  patient 
under  Adversitie  ;  as  long  as  we  say 
"Thou,  Lord,  hast  made  our  Hill  soe 
strong."  'Tis  more  difficult  to  bear  with 
Comeliness,  doubtless  ;  and  envious  Folks 
there  will  be  ;  and  we  know  alle  Things 
have  an  End,  and  everie  Sweet  hath  its 
Sour,  and  everie  Fountain  its  Fall ;  but 
.  .  .  'tis  very  pleasant  for  all  that. 

Tuesday  3 1  sty  1532. 
Who  could  have  thoughte  that  those 
ripe  Grapes  whereof  dear  Gaffer  ate  soe 
plentifullie,  should  have  ended  his  Dayes  ? 
This  Event  hath  filled  the  House  with 
Mourning.  He  had  us  all  about  his  Bed 
to  receive  his  Blessing  ;  and  'twas  piteous 


of  Sir  Thos.  More  141 

to  see  Father  fall  upon  his  Face,  as  Joseph 
on  the  Face  of  Jacob,  and  weep  upon  him 
and  kiss  him.  Like  Jacob,  my  Grandsire 
lived  to  see  his  duteous  Son  attayn  to  the 
Height  of  earthlie  Glorie,  his  Heart  un- 
spoyled  and  untouched. 

July,  1532. 

The  Days  of  Mourning  for  my  Grand- 
sire  are  at  an  End  ;  yet  Father  still  goeth 
heavilie.  This  Forenoon,  looking  forthe 
of  my  Lattice,  I  saw  him  walking  along 
the  River  Side,  his  Arm  cast  about  Will's 
Neck ;  and  'twas  a  dearer  Sight  to  my 
Soul  than  to  see  the  King  walking  there 
with  his  arm  around  Fathers  Neck.  They 
seemed  in  such  earnest  Converse,  that  I 
was  avised  to  ask  Will,  afterwards,  what 
they  had  been  saying.  He  told  me  that, 
after  much  friendly  Chat  together  on  this 
and  that,  Father  fell  into  a  Muse,  and 
presently,  fetching  a  deep  Sigh,  says, — 

"Woulde  to  God,  Son  Roper,  on  Condi- 
tion three  Things  were  well  established  in 


/42  The  Household 

Christendom,  I  were  put  into  a  Sack,  an<S 
cast  presently  into  the  Thames?  Will 
sayth, — 

"  What  three  soe  great  Things  can  they 
be,  Father,  as  to  move  you  to  such  a 
Wish  ? " 

"  In  Faith,  Will"  answers  he,  "  they  be 
these. — First,  that  whereas  the  most  Part 
Christian  Princes  be  at  War,  they  were 
at  universall  Peace.  Next,  that  whereas 
the  Church  of  Christ  is  at  present  sore 
afflicted  with  divers  Errors  and  Heresies, 
it  were  well  settled  in  a  godly  Uniformitie. 
Last,  that  this  Matter  of  the  Kings  Mar- 
riage were  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the 
Quietness  of  alle  Parties,  brought  to  a 
good  Conclusion." 

Indeede,  this  last  Matter  preys  on  my 
Father's  Soul.  He  hath  even  knelt  to  the 
King,  to  refrain  from  exacting  Compliance 
v/ith  his  Grace's  Will  concerning  it ;  mov- 
inglie  reminding  him,  even  with  Tears,  of 
his  Grace's  own  Words  to  him  on  delivering 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  143 

the  Great  Seal,  "  First  look  unto  God,  and, 
after  God,  unto  me."  But  the  King  is 
heady  in  tnis  Matter  ;  stubborn  as  a  Mule 
or  wild  Ass's  Colt,  whose  Mouths  must  be 
held  with  Bit  and  Bridle,  if  they  be  to  be 
governed  at  alle  ;  and  the  King  hath  taken 
the  Bit  between  his  Teeth,  and  there  is 
none  dare  ride  him.  Alle  for  Love  of  a 
brown  Girl,  with  a  Wen  on  her  Throat,  and 
an  extra  Finger ! 

July  loth. 

How  short  a  Time  agone  it  seemeth  that, 
in  my  Prosperity,  I  said,  "  We  shall  never 
be  moved  ;  Thou,  Lord,  of  Thy  Goodness, 
hast  made  our  Hill  soe  strong!"  .  .  .  . 
Thou  didst  turn  away  thy  Face,  and  I  was 
troubled  ! " 

281/1. 

Thus  sayth  Plato  of  Him  whom  he 
soughte,  but  hardly  found :  "  Truth  is  his 
Body,  and  Light  his  Shadow."  A  marvel- 
lous Saying  for  a  Heathen. 

Hear  also  what  St.  John  sayth  :  "  God  is 


144  The  Household 

Light ;  and  in  him  is  no  Darkness  at  all." 
"  And  the  Light  was  the  Life  of  Men  :  and 
the  Light  shineth  in  Darkness,  and  the 
Darkness  comprehended  it  not." 

Hear  also  what  St.  Augustine  sayth : 
"They  are  the  most  uncharitable  towards 
Error,  who  have  never  experienced  how 
hard  a  Matter  it  is  to  come  at  the  Truth." 

Hard,  indeede !  Here's  Father  agaynst 
Will,  and  agaynst  Erasmus,  of  whom  he  once 
could  not  speak  well  enough  ;  and  now  he 
says,  that  if  he  upholds  such  and  such  Opi- 
nions, his  dear  Erasmus  may  be  the  Devil's 
Erasmus,  for  what  he  cares.  And  here's 
Father  at  Issue  with  half  the  learned  Heads 
in  Christendom  concerning  the  Kings  Max 
riage.  And  yet,  for  alle  that,  I  think  Father 
is  in  the  Right. 

He  taketh  Matters  soe  to  Heart  that  e'en 
his  Appetite  fails.  Yesterday  he  put  aside 
his  old  favourite  Dish  of  Brewis,  saying,  "  I 
know  not  how  'tis,  good  Alice;  I've  lost 
my  Stomach,  I  think,  for  my  old  Relishes,'1 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  145 

,  .  .  and  this,  e'en  with  a  Tear  in  his  Eye. 
But  'twas  not  the  Brewis,  I  know,  that 
made  it  start. 

Aug. 

He  hath  resigned  the  Great  Seal !  And 
none  of  us  knew  of  his  having  done  soe, 
nor  e'en  of  his  meditating  it,  till  after 
Morning  Prayers  to-day,  when,  insteade  of 
one  of  his  Gentlemen  stepping  up  to  my 
Mother  in  her  Pew  with  the  Words,  "  Ma- 
dam, my  Lord  is  gone,"  he  cometh  up  to 
her  himself,  with  a  Smile  on's  Face,  and 
sayth,  low  bowing  as  he  spoke,  "  Madam, 
my  Lord  is  gone."  She  takes  it  for  one  of 
the  manie  Jests  whereof  she  misses  the 
Point ;  and  'tis  not  till  we  are  out  of  Church, 
in  the  open  Ayr,  that  she  fully  comprehends 
my  Lord  Chancellor  is  indeede  gone,  and 
she  hath  onlie  her  Sir  Thomas  More. 

A  Burst  of  Tears  was  no  more  than  was 
to  be  lookt  for  from  poor  Mother ;  and,  in 
Sooth,  we  alle  felt  aggrieved  and  mortifyde 
enough  ;  but  'twas  a  short  Sorrow  ;  for  Father 


10 


146  The  Household 

declared  that  he  had  cast  Pelion  and  Ossa 
off  his  Back  into  the  bottomless  Pit-;  and 
fell  into  such  funny  Antics  that  we  were 
soone  as  merry  as  ever  we  were  in  our  Lives. 
Pattcsoii,  so  soon  as  he  hears  it,  comes 
leaping  and  skipping  across  the  Garden, 
crying,  "A  fatted  Calf!  let  a  fatted  Calf  be 
killed,  Masters  and  Mistresses,  for  this  my 
Brother  which  was  dead,  is  alive  again ! " 
and  falls  a  kissing  his  Hand.  But  poor 
Pattesons  Note  will  soon  change  ;  for  Fa- 
thers diminished  State  will  necessitate  the 
Dismissal  of  all  extra  Hands  ;  and  there  is 
manie  a  Servant  under  his  Roof  whom  he 
can  worse  spare  than  the  poor  Fool. 

In  the  Evening  he  gathers  us  alle  about 
him  in  the  Pavilion,  where  he  throws  him- 
self into  his  old  accustomed  Seat,  casts  his 
Arm  about  Mother,  and  cries,  "  How  glad 
must  Cincinuatus  have  been  to  spy  out  his 
Cottage  again,  with  Racilia  standing  at 
the  Gate!"  Then  called  for  Curds  and 
Cream :  sayd  how  sweet  the  soft  Summer 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  147 

Ayr  was,  coming  over  the  River,  and  bade 
Cecil  sing  "  The  King's  Hunt's  up."  After 
this,  one  Ballad  after  another  was  called 
for,  till  alle  had  sung  their  Lay,  ill  or  well, 
he  listing  the  While  with  closed  Eyes,  and 
a  composed  Smile  about  his  Mouth  ;  the 
two  Furrows  betweene  his  Brows  relaxing 
graduallie,  till  at  length  they  could  no  more 
be  seene.     At  last  he  says, 

"  Who  was  that  old  Prophet  that  coulde 
not,  or  woulde  not,  prophesy  for  a  King  of 
Judah  till  a  Minstrel  came  and  played  unto 
him  ?  Sure,  he  must  have  loved,  as  I  do, 
the  very  'lovely  Song  of  one  that  playeth 
well  upon  an  Instrument,  yclept  the  human 
Heart ;  and  have  felt,  as  I  do  now,  the 
Spirit  given  him  to  speak  of  Matters  fo- 
reign to  his  Mind.  '  Tis  of  res  angusta 
domi,  dear  Brats,  I  must  speak ;  soe  the 
sooner  begun,  the  sooner  over.  Here  am 
I,  with  a  dear  Wife  and  eight  loved  Chil- 
dren ...  for  my  Daughter's  Husbands  and 
my  Son's  Wife  are  my  Children  as  much 


148  The  Household 

as  any ;  and  Mercy  Giggs  is  a  Daughter 
too  .  .  .  nine  Children,  then,  and  eleven 
Grandchildren,  and  a  Swarm  of  Servants 
to  boot,  all  of  whom  have  as  yet  eaten 
what  it  pleased  them,  and  drunken  what 
it  suited  them  at  my  Board,  without  its 
being  any  one's  Businesse  to  say  them 
nay.  'Twas  the  dearest  Privilege  of  my 
Lord  Chancellor ;  but  now  he's  dead  and 
gone,  how  shall  we  contract  the  Charges 
of  Sir  Thomas  More  ?  " 

We  looked  from  one  to  another,  and  were 
silent. 

"  I'll  tell  ye,  dear  ones,"  he  went  on  ;  "  I 
have  been  brought  up  at  Oxford,  at  an  Inn 
of  Chancery,  at  Lincoln  s  Inn,  and  at  the 
King's  Court — from  the  lowest  Degree, 
that  is,  to  the  highest,  and  yet  have  I  in 
yearly  Revenues  at  this  Present,  little  above 
one  Hundred  Pounds  a-year ;  but  then,  as 
Chilo  sayth,  '  honest  Loss  is  preferable  to 
dishonest  Gain :  by  the  first,  a  Man  suffers 
once  ;  by  the  second,  for  ever  ; '  and  I  may 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  149 

take  up  my  Parable  with  Samuel,  and  say, 
'Whose  Ox  have  I  taken  ?  whose  Ass  have 
I  taken  ?  whom  have  I  defrauded  ?  whom 
have  I  oppressed  ?  of  whose  Hand  have  I 
received  any  Bribe  to  blinde  mine  Eyes 
therewith  ? '  No,  my  worst  Enemies  can- 
not lay  to  my  Charge  any  of  these  Things  ; 
and  my  Trust  in  you  is,  that,  rather  than 
regret  I  should  not  have  made  a  Purse  by 
any  such  base  Methods,  you  will  all  cheer- 
fully contribute  your  Proportions  to  the 
common  Fund,  and  share  and  share  alike 
with  me  in  this  my  diminished  State." 

We  all  gat  about  him,  and  by  our  Words 
and  Kisses  gave  Warrant  that  we  would. 

"Well,  then,"  quoth  be,  "my  Mind  is, 
that  since  we  are  all  of  a  Will  to  walk  down- 
hill together,  we  will  do  soe  at  a  breathing 
Pace,  and  not  drop  down  like  a  Plummet. 
Let  alle  things  be  done  decentlie,  and  in 
order :  we  won't  descend  to  Oxford  Fare 
first,  nor  yet  to  the  Fare  of  New  Inn. 
We'll  begin  with  Lincoln  s  bin  Diet,  where- 


150 


The  Household 


on  many  good  and  wise  Men  thrive  well  ;  if 
we  find  this  draw  too  heavily  on  the  Com- 
mon Purse,  we  will,  next  Year,  come  down 
to  Oxford  Fare,  with  which  many  great  and 
learned  Doclors  have  been  conversant ;  and 
if  our  Purse  stretch  not  to  cover  e'en  this, 
why,  in  Heaven's  Name  !  we'll  go  begging 
together,  with  Staff  and  Wallet,  and  sing 
a  Salve  Regina  at  every  good  Man's  Door, 
whereby  we  shall  still  keep  Company,  and 
be  merry  together  !  " 

Sept.  22. 

Now  that  the  first  Surprise  and  Grief, 
and  the  first  Fervour  of  Fidelity  and  Self- 
devotion  have  passed  off,  we  have  subsided 
into  how  deep  and  holy  a  Quiet ! 

We  read  of  the  Desertion  of  the  World, 
as  a  Matter  of  Course  ;  but  when  our  own 
Turn  comes,  it  does  seem  strange,  to  find 
ourselves  let  fall  down  the  Stream  without  a 
single  Hand  outstretched  to  help  us  ;  for- 
gotten, in  a  Moment,  as  though  we  had 
never  beene,  by  those  who  lately  ate  and 


of  Sir  TIios.  Mere.  1 5 1 

laughed  at  our  Table.  And  this,  without 
any  Fault  or  Offence  of  ours,  but  merely 
from  our  having  lost  the  Light  of  the  Kings 
Countenance  !  I  say,  it  does  seem  strange  ; 
but  how  fortunate,  how  blessed  are  those  to 
whom  such  a  Course  of  Events  only  seems 
strange,  unaccompanied  by  Self-reproach 
and  Bitterness  !  I  coulde  not  help  feeling 
this,  in  reading  an  affectionate  Letter  deare 
Father  writ  this  Forenoon  to  Erasmus, 
he  sayd,  "  I  have  now  obtained  what,  from 
a  child,  I  have  continually  wished  !  that, 
being  entirely  quit  of  Businesse  and  all  pub- 
lick  Affairs,  I  might  live  for  a  Time  only  to 
God  and  myself." 

Having  no  Hankering  after  the  old 
Round  he  soe  long  hath  run,  he  now,  in 
Fact,  looks  younger  every  Day  ;  and  yet 
not  with  the  same  Kind  of  Youth  he  had 
before  his  Back  was  bowed  under  the  Chan- 
cellorship. 'Tis  a  more  composed,  chas- 
tised Sort  of  Rejuvenesence :  rather  the 
soft  Warmth  of  Autumn,  which  sometimes 


152  The  Household 

seems  like  May,  than  May  itself:  the  en 
kindling,  within  this  mortal  Tabernacle,  of 
a  heavenly  Light  that  never  grows  dim,  be- 
cause it  is  immortal  ;  and  burns  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever :  a  Youth- 
fulness  of  Soul  and  Mind  characterised  by 
Growth  ;  Something  with  which  this  World 
and  its  fleeting  Fancies  has  nothing  to  do  ; 
Something  that  the  King  can  neither  im- 
part nor  take  away. 

....  We  have  had  a  tearful  Morning 
.  .  .  poor  Patteson  has  gone.  My  Father 
hath  obtained  good  Quarters  for  him  with 
my  Lord  Mayor  ,  with  a  Stipulation  that  he 
shall  retain  his  Office  with  the  Lord  Mayor 
for  the  Time  being,  as  long  as  he  can  fill  it 
at  alle.  This  suits  Patteson,  who  says  he 
will  sooner  shift  Masters  year  by  year, 
than  grow  too  fond  of  any  Man  again,  as 
he  hath  of  FatJier ;  but  there  has  been  sad 
blubbering  and  blowing  of  Noses. 

Sept.  24. 
This  afternoon,  coming  upon  Mercy  seat- 


of  Sir  T/ws.  More.  153 

ed  in  the  Alcove,  like  unto  the  Image  of 
some  Saint  in  a  Niche,  her  Hands  folded 
on  her  Lap,  and  her  Eyes  stedfastlie  agaze 
on  the  setting  Sun,  I  coulde  not  but  mark 
how  Years  were  silentlie  at  work  upon  her, 
as  doubtlesse  upon  us  alle  ;  the  tender,  fear- 
fulle  Girl  having  thus  graduallie  changed 
into  the  sober,  high-minded  Woman.  She 
is  soe  seldom  seene  in  Repose,  soe  con- 
stantly astir  and  afoot  in  this  or  that  kind 
Office,  mostly  about  the  Children,  that  I 
had  never  thought  upon  it  before  ;  but  now 
I  was  all  at  once  avised  to  marvel  that  she 
who  had  so  long  seemed  fitter  for  Heaven 
than  Earth,  shoulde  never  literallie  have 
voved  herself  the  Spouse  of  Christ ;  more 
in  especiall  as  all  the  Expectation  of  being 
the  Spouse  of  anie  else  must  long  since 
have  died  within  her. 

I  sayd,  "  Mercy,  thou  lookst  like  a  Nun : 
how  is't  thou  hast  ne'er  become  one  in 
Earnest  ? " 

She  staited;    then  sayd,   "Could  I  be 


154  Tke  lions elwld 

more  usefull  ?  more  harmless  ?  less  exposed 
to  Temptation  ?  or  half  soe  happy  as  I  am 
now  ?  In  sooth,  Meg,  the  Time  has  beene 
when  methought,  how  sweet  the  living 
Death  of  the  Cloister !  How  good  that 
must  needs  be  which  had  the  Suffrages 
of  CJirysostom  the  golden-mouthed,  and 
holy  Ambrose,  and  our  own  Anselm  !  How 
peacefull,  to  take  Wing  like  the  Dove, 
md  fly  away  from  a  naughty  World,  and 
be  at  Rest !  How  brave  to  live  alone,  like 
St.  Antony,  in  the  Desert !  onlie  I  would 
have  had  some  Books  with  me  in  my  Cave, 
and  'tis  uncertayn  whether  St.  Antony  had 
Knowledge  of  Letters,  beyond  the  heaven- 
taught  Lesson,  '  God  is  Love/  ...  for  me- 
thought soe  much  Reflection  and  no 
Action  would  be  too  much  for  a  Woman's 
Mind  to  bear — I  might  goe  mad.  And  I 
remembered  me  how  the  Dove  that  gladly 
flew  away  from  the  Ark,  gladly  flew  back, 
and  abode  in  the  Ark  till  such  Time  as  a 
new  Home  was  ready  for  her.     And  me- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  155 

thought,  cannot  I  live  apart  from  Sin  here, 
and  now  ;  and  as  to  Sorrow,  where  can  we 
live  apart  from  that  ?     Sure,  we  may  live 
on  the  Skirts  of  the  World  in  a  Spiritt  as 
truly  unworldlie  as  though  we  were  alto- 
gether out  of  it :  and  here  I  may  come  and 
go,  and  range  in  the  fresh  Ayr,  and  love 
other  Folks'  Children,  and  read  my  Psalter, 
and  pore  over  the  Sayings  of  the  wise  Men 
cf  old,  and  look  on  the  Faces  I  love,  and 
sit  at  the  Feet  of  Sir  Thomas  More.     Soe 
there,  Meg,  are  my  poor  Reasons  for  not 
caring  to  be  a  Nun.     Our  deare  Lord  is  in 
himself  all  that  our  highest,  holiest  Affec- 
tions can  seek  or  comprehend  ;  for  he  made 
these  our  Hearts  ;  he  gave  us  these  our 
Affections  ;   and  through  them  the  Spirit 
speaks.      Aspiring   to  their  Source,    they 
rise  up  like  the  white  Smoke  and  bright 
Flame  ;  while,  on  Earth,  if  left  unmastered, 
they  burn,  suffocate,  and  destroy.    Yet  they 
have   their   natural  and  innocent  Outlets 
even  here  ;  and  a  Woman  may  warm  her- 


1 5  6  The  Household 

self  by  them  without  Scorching,  and  yet 
be  neither  a  Wife  nor  a  Nun." 


Sept.  2St/i. 

Ever  since  Father  s  Speech  to  us  in  the 
Pavilion,  we  have  beene  of  one  Heart  and 
one  Soul ;  neither  have  any  of  us  sayd  that 
aught  of  the  Things  we  possessed  were  our 
own,  but  we  have  had  all  Things  in  Com- 
mon. And  we  have  eaten  our  Meat  with 
Gladness  and  Singleness  of  Heart. 

This  Afternoon,  expressing  to  Father  my 
gratefull  Sense  of  our  present  Happiness 
..."  Yes,  Meg"  returns  he,  "  I,  too,  am 
deeply  thankful  for  this  breathing  Space." 

"  Do  you  look  on  it  as  no  more,  then  ? " 
I  sayd. 

"As  no  more,  Meg:  we  shall  have  a 
Thunder-clap  by-and-by.  Look  out  on 
the  Thames.  See  how  unwontedlie  cleare 
it  is,  and  how  low  the  Swallows  fly  ...  . 
How  distincllie  we  see  the  green  Sedges 
on   Battersea   Bank,    and    their    reflected 


of  Si)  TJios.  More.  157 

Images  in  the  Water.  We  can  almost 
discern  the  Features  of  those  poor  Knaves 
digging  in  the  Cabbage  Gardens,  and  hear 
'em  talk,  so  still  is  the  Ayr.  Have  you 
ne'er  before  noted  these  Signs  ? " 

"A  Storm  is  Brewing,"  I  sayd. 

"  Aye,  we  shall  have  a  Lightning-flash 
anon.  Soe  still,  Meg,  is  also  our  moral 
Atmosphere  just  now.  God  is  giving  us 
a  breathing  Space,  as  he  did  to  the  Egyp- 
tians before  the  Plague  of  Hail,  that  they 
might  gather  their  live  Stock  within  Doors. 
Let  us  take  for  Example  them  that  believed 
and  obeyed  him,  and  improve  this  holy 
Pause." 

Just  at  this  Moment,  a  few  heavie  Drops 
fell  agaynst  the  Window  Pane,  and  were 
seene  by  both.  Our  Eyes  met ;  and  I  felt 
a  silent  Pang. 

"  Five  Days  before  the  Passover"  re- 
sumed FatJier,  "all  seemed  as  still  and 
quiet  as  we  are  now  ;  but  Jesus  knew  his 
Hour  was   at   hand.     E'en   while   he   yet 


158  The  Household 

spake  familiarly  among  the  People,  there 
came  a  Sound  from  Heaven,  and  they  that 
stood  by  said  it  thundered  ;  but  he  knew  it 
for  the  Voice  of  his  dear  Father.  Let  us, 
in  like  Manner,  when  the  Clap  cometh, 
recognise  in  it  the  Voice  of  God,  and  not 
be  afraid  with  any  Amazement." 

Nov.  2. 

Gammer  Gurney\s  dead,  and  I  must  say 
I  am  glad  of  it.  The  Change,  to  her,  must 
be  blessed,  and  there  seemed  some  Danger 
left,  after  having  escaped  being  ducked  for 
a  Witch,  she  shoulde  have  been  burn*  for 
a  Heretic.  Father  looked  on  lit:  is  an 
obstinate  old  Woman  ;  Will  counteu  her 
little  short  of  a  Saint  and  Prophetess,  ana 
kept  her  well  supplied  with  alle  she  could 
neede.  Latterly  she  was  stone  deaf;  so 
'tis  a  happy  Release. 

The  settled  Purpose  of  Fathers  Soul, 
just  now,  is  to  make  up  a  Marriage  be- 
tweene  Mercy  and  Dr.  Clement.     'Tis  high 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  159 

Advancement  for  her,  and  there  seems  to 
have  been  some  old  Liking  between  'em 
we  never  knew  of. 

April  1,  1533. 

Though  some  Months  have  passed  since 
my  Father  uttered  his  warning  Voice,  and 
all  continues  to  go  quiet,  I  cannot  forbeare, 
now  and  then,  to  call  his  Monition  to 
Mind,  and  look  about  for  the  Cloud  that  is 
to  bring  the  Thunder-clap ;  but  the  Ex- 
pectation sobers  rather  than  saddens  me. 

This  Morning,  leaning  over  the  River 
Wall,  I  was  startled  by  the  colde,  damp 
Hand  of  some  one  from  behind  being  layd 
on  mine.  At  the  same  Time  a  familiar 
Voice  exclaimed,  "  Canst  tell  us,  Mistress, 
why  Fools  have  hot  Heads  and  Hands  icy 
colde  ? " 

I  made  Answer,  "  Canst  tell  me,  Pattcsou, 
wny  Fools  should  stray  out  of  Bounds  ? " 

"  Why,  that's  what  Fools  do  every  Day," 
he  readilie  replied ;  "  but  this  is  All  Fools 
Day,   mine   own    special   Holiday ;    and    I 


160  The  Household 

told  my  Lord  Mayor  overnight,  that  if 
he  lookt  for  a  Fool  this  Morning,  he  must 
look  in  the  Glass.  In  sooth,  Mistress  Meg, 
I  should  by  Rights  wear  the  Gold  Chain, 
and  he  the  Motley  ;  for  a  proper  Fool  he 
is,  and  I  shall  be  glad  when  his  Year's 
Service  to  me  is  out.  The  worst  o'  these 
Lord  Mayors  is,  that  we  can't  part  with 
'em  till  their  Time's  up.  Why  now,  this 
present  one  hath  not  so  much  Understand- 
ing as  would  foot  an  old  Stocking  ;  'twas 
but  Yesterday  when,  in  Quality  of  my 
Taster,  he  civilly  enough  makes  over  to 
me  a  half-eaten  Plate  of  Gurnet,  which  I 
wave  aside,  thus,  saying,  I  eat  no  Fish  of 
which    I   cannot  affirm,  'rati  sunt  Boni? 

few  are  the  Rones and  I  protest  to 

you  he  knew  it  not  for  Fool's  Latin.  Thus 
I'm  driven,  from  mere  Discouragement,  to 
leave  prating  for  listening,  which  thou 
knowest,  Mistress,  is  no  Foci's  Office. 
And  among  the  sundrie  Matters  I  hear  at 
'my  lord's  Table  ...      for  he   minds  not 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  161 

what  he  says  before  his  Servants,  thereby 
giving  new  Proof  'tis  he  shoulde  wear  the 
Motley  ....  I  note  his  saying  that  the 
Kings  private  Marriage  will  assuredlie  be 
made  publick  this  coming  Easter,  and  my 
Lady  Anne  will  be  crowned  ....  More, 
by  Token,  he  knows  the  Merchant  that 
will  supply  the  Genoa  Velvet  and  Cloth  of 
Gold,  and  the  Masquers  that  are  to  enacl 
the  Pageant.  For  the  Love  o'  Safety, 
then,  Mistress  Meg,  bid  thy  good  FatJicr 
e'en  take  a  Fool's  Advice,  and  eat  humble 
Pie  betimes ;  for  doubt  not  this  proud 
Madam'  to  be  as  vindictive  as  Herodias, 
and  one  that,  unless  he  appease  her  full 
early,  will  have  his  Head  set  before  her  in 
a  Charger.     I've  said  my  Say." 

April  4t/i. 
Three  Bishops  have  been  here  this  Fore- 
noon, to  bid  Father  to  the  Coronation,  and 
offer  him    twenty  Pounds   to   provide  his 

Dress  ;  but  Father  hath,  with  much  Cour- 

ii 


it>2  The  Household 

tesie,  declined  to  be  present.  After  much 
friendly  pressing,  they  parted,  seeminglie 
on  good  Terms ;  but  I  have  Misgivings  of 
the  Issue. 

gth. 

A  ridiculous  Charge  hath  beene  got  up 
'gainst  dear  Father;  no  less  than  of  Bri- 
bery and  Corruption.  One  Pariicll  com- 
plaineth  of  a  Decree  given  agaynst  him 
in  favour  of  one  Vaughan,  whose  Wife,  he 
deponeth,  gave  Father  a  gilt  Flaggon.  To 
the  noe  small  Surprise  of  the  Council, 
Father  admitted  that  she  had  done  soe : 
"  But,  my  Lords,"  proceeded  he,  when  they 
had  uttered  a  few  Sentences  of  Reprehen- 
sion somewhat  too  exultantlie,  "  will  ye 
list  the  Conclusion  of  the  Tale?  I  bade 
my  Butler  fill  the  Cup  with  Wine,  and 
having  drunk  her  Health,  I  made  her 
pledge  me,  and  then  restored  her  Gift,  and 
would  not  take  it  agayn." 

As  innocent  a  Matter,  touching  the  of- 
fering  him   a    Pair   of  Gloves   containing 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  163 

Forty  Pounds,  and  his  taking  the  first 
and  returning  the  last,  saying  he  preferred 
his  Gloves  without  Lining,  hath  been  made 
publick  with  like  Triumph  to  his  own  good 
Fame ;  but,  alack !  these  Feathers  show 
which  Way  sets  the  Wind. 

April  13th. 

A  heavier  Charge  than  either  of  the 
above  hath  been  gotten  up,  concerning  the 
wicked  Woman  of  Kent,  with  whom  they 
accuse  him  of  having  tampered,  that,  in 
her  pretended  Revelations  and  Rhapsodies, 
she  might  utter  Words  against  the  Kings 
Divorce.  His  Name  hath,  indeede,  been 
put  in  the  Bill  of  Attainder ;  but,  out  of 
Favour,  he  hath  been  granted  a  private 
Hearing,  his  Judges  being  the  new  Arch- 
bishop, the  new  Chancellor,  his  Grace  of 
Norfolk,  and  Master  Cromwell. 

He  tells  us  that  they  stuck  not  to  the 
Matter  in  Hand,  but  began  cunningly  enow 
to  sound  him  on  the  Kings  Matters  ;  and 
finding  they  could  not  shake  him,  did  pro- 


164  The  Household 

ceed  to  Threats,  which,  he  told  'em,  might 
well  enow  scare  Children,  but  not  him  ; 
and  as  to  his  having  provoked  his  Grace 
the  King  to  sett  forth  in  his  Book  aught  to 
dishonour  and  fetter  a  good  Christian,  his 
Grace  himself  well  knew  the  Book  was 
never  shewn  him  save  for  verbal  Criticism, 
when  the  Subj eel-matter  was  completed  by 
the  Makers  of  the  same,  and  that  he  had 
warned  his  Grace  not  to  express  soe  much 
Submission  to  the  Pope.  Whereupon  they 
with  great  Displeasure  dismissed  him,  and 
he  took  Boat  for  Chelsea  with  mine  Hus- 
band, in  such  gay  Spiritts,  that  Will,  not 
having  beene  privy  to  what  had  passed, 
concluded  his  name  to  have  beene  struck 
out  of  the  Bill  of  Attainder,  and  congratu- 
lated him  thereupon  soe  soone  as  they  came 
a-land,  saying,  "  I  guess,  Father,  all  is  well, 
seeing  you  thus  merry." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  son  Roper"  returns  Fa- 
ther,  steadilie  ;  repeating  thereupon,  onca 
or  twice,  this  Phrase,  "  All  is  well." 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  165 

Will,  somehow  mistrusting  him,  puts  the 
Matter  to  him  agayn. 

"You  are  then,  Father,  put  out  of  the 
Bill  ? " 

"  Out  of  the  Bill,  good  Fellow*?  "  repeats 
Father,  stopping  short  in  his  Walk,  and  re- 
garding him  with  a  Smile  that  Will  sayth 
was  like  to  break  his  Heart.  ..."  Wouldst 
thou  know,  dear  Son,  why  I  am  so  joy- 
ful ?  In  good  Faith,  I  have  given  the 
Devil  a  foul  Fall ;  for  I  have  with  those 
Lords  gone  so  far,  as  that  without  great 
Shame  I  can  ne'er  go  back.  The  first  Step, 
Will,  is  the  worst,  and  that's  taken." 

And  so  to  the  House,  with  never  another 
Word,  Will  being  smote  at  the  Heart. 

But,  this  Forenoon,  deare  Will  comes 
running  into  me,  with  Joy  all  bright,  and 
tells  me  he  hath  just  heard  from  Cromwell 
that  Father  s  name  is  in  sooth  struck  out. 
Thereupon,  we  go  together  to  him  with 
the  News.  He  taketh  it  thankfully,  yet 
composedly,  saying,  as  he  lavs  his   Hand 


\66  The  Household 

on  my  Shoulder,  "  In  faith,  Meg,  quod 
diffrkur  non  aufertur."  Seeing  me  some- 
what stricken  and  overborne,  he  sayth, 
"  Come,  lei's  leave  good  Will  awhile  to  the 
Company  of  his  own  select  and  profitable 
Thoughts,  and  take  a  Turn  together  by  the 
Water  Side." 

Then,  closing  his  Book,  which  I  marked 
was  Plato  s  Phcedon,  he  steps  forth  with  me 
into  the  Garden  leaning  on  my  Shoulder, 
and  pretty  heavilie  too.  After  a  Turn  or 
two  in  Silence,  he  lightens  his  Pressure, 
and  in  a  Bland,  peaceifying  Tone,  com- 
mences Horace  his  tenth  Ode,  Book  second, 
and  goes  through  the  first  fourteen  or  fif- 
teen Lines  in  a  Kind  of  lulling  Monotone  ; 
then  takes  another  Turn  or  two,  ever  look- 
ing at  the  Thames  ;  and  in  a  stronger  Voice 
begins  his  favourite 

"  Justum,  ac  tenacem  Propositi  Virum 
Non  Civium  Ardor,"  etc., 

on  to 

"  Impavidum  ferient  Ruinee ;  ' 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  1 6j 

—and  lets  go  his  Hold  on  me  to  extend  his 
Hand  in  fine,  free  Action.  Then,  drawing 
me  to  him  agayn,  presentlie  murmurs,  "  I 
reckon  that  the  Sufferings  of  this  present 
Time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with 
the  Glory  which  shall  be  revealed  in  us 
.  .  .  Oh  no,  not  worthy  to  be  compared. 
I  have  lived,  I  have  laboured,  I  have  loved. 
I  have  lived  in  them  I  loved,  laboured  for 
them  I  loved,  loved  them  for  whom  I  la- 
boured. My  Labour  has  not  been  in  vayn. 
To  love  and  to  labour  is  the  Sum  of  living  ; 
and  yet  how  manie  think  they  live  who 
neither  labour  nor  love !  Agayn,  how 
manie  labour  and  love,  and  yet  are  not 
loved  ;  but  I  have  beene  loved,  and  my 
Labour  has  not  been  in  vayn.  Now,  the 
Daye  is  far  spent,  and  the  Night  is  at  hand, 
and  the  Time  draweth  nigh  when  Man 
resteth  from  his  Labours,  even  from  his 
Labours  of  Love  ;  bi.t  still  he  shall  love, 
and  he  shall  live,  where  the  Spirit  sayth  he 
shall  rest  from  his  Labours,  and  where  his 


(68  The  Household 

Works  do  follow  him  ;  for  he  entereth  into 
Rest  through  and  to  Him  who  is  Life,  and 
Light,  and  Love." 

Then  looking  steadfastlie  at  the  Thames — 
"  How  quietlie,"  sayth  he,  "  it  flows  on ! 
This  River,  Meg,  hath  its  Origin  from  seven 
petty  Springs  somewhither  amongst  the 
Gloucestershire  Hills,  where  they  bubble 
forthe  unnoted,  save  by  the  Herd  and  Hind. 
Belike,  they  murmur  over  the  Pebbles  pret- 
tily enough  ;  but  a  great  River,  mark  you, 
never  murmurs.  It  murmured  and  babbled 
too,  'tis  like,  whilst  only  a  Brook,  and 
brawled  away  as  it  widened  and  deepened, 
and  chafed  agaynst  Obstacles,  and  here  and 
there  got  a  Fall,  and  splashed  and  made 
much  Ado,  but  ever  kept  running  on  to- 
wards its  End,  still  deepening  and  widen- 
ing ;  and  now,  towards  the  Close  of  its 
Course,  look  you  how  swift  and  quiet  it  is, 
running  mostly  between  Flats,  and  with 
the  dear  blue  Heaven  reflected  in  its 
v  ace.    •  •  >  • 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  169 

April  12,  1534. 

'Twas  o'  Wednesday e  was  a  Week,  we 
were  quietlie  taking  our  Dinner,  when,  after 
a  loud  and  violent  Knocking  at  the  outer 
Door,  in  cometh  a  Pursuivant,  and  sum- 
moneth  Father  to  appear  next  Daye  before 
the  Commissioners,  to  take  the  newly-coin- 
ed Oath  of  Supremacy.  Mother  utters  a 
hasty  Cry,  Bess  turns  white  as  Death  ;  but 
I,  urged  by  I  know  not  what  sudden  Im- 
pulse to  con  the  new  Comer's  Visage  nar- 
rowly, did  with  Eagerness  exclaim,  "  Here's 
some  Jest  of  Fathers  ;  'tis  only  Dick  Halli- 
well!"' 

Whereupon  Father  burst  out  laughing, 
hugged  Mother,  called  Bess  a  silly  Puss,  and 
gave  Halliwell  a  Groat  for's  Payns.  Now 
while  some  were  laughing,  and  others  tak- 
ing Father  prettie  sharplie  to  Task  for  soe 
rough  a  Crank,  I  fell  a  muzing,  what  could 
be  the  Drift  of  this  ;  and  coulde  only  sur- 
mise it  might  be  to  harden  us  beforehand, 
as  'twere,  to  what  was  sure  to  come  at  last 


1 70  The  Household 

And  the  Preapprehension  of  this  so  bcla 
boured  my  alreadie  o'erbuithened  Spiritts 
as  that  I  was  fayn  to  betake  myself  to  the 
Nurserie,  and  lose  all  Thought  and  Reflec 
tion  in  my  little  Bess's  prettie  Ways.     And, 
this  not  answering,  was  for6l  to  have  Re- 
course to  Prayer ;  then,  leaving  my  Closett, 
was  able  to  return  to  the  Nurserie,  and  for- 
get myself  awhile  in  the  Mirth  of  the  In- 
fants. 

Hearing  Voyces  beneath  the  Lattice,  I 
lookt  forthe,  and  behelde  his  Grace  of  Nor- 
folk (of  late  a  strange  Guest)  walking  be- 
neath the  Window  in  earneste  Converse 
with  Father;  and,  as  they  turned  about,  I 
heard  him  say,  "  By  the  Mass,  Master  More, 
'tis  perilous  striving  with  Princes.  I  could 
wish  you,  as  a  Friend,  to  incline  to  the 
Kings  Pleasure  ;  for  Indignatio  Principis 
Mors  est" 

"Is  that  all?"  says  Father;  ''why  then 
there  will  be  onlie  this  Difference  between 
your  Grace   and  me — that  I  shall  die  to* 


of  Sir  Tlws.  More.  j  / 1 

tlaye,  and   you   to-morrow  ;  " — which    was 
the  Sum  of  what  I  caught. 

Next  Morning,  we  were  breaking  our 
Fast  with  Peacefulnesse  of  Heart,  on  the 
Principle  that  Sufficient  for  the  Daye  is  the 
Evill  thereof,  and  there  had  beene  a  wordy 
War  between  our  two  Factions  of  the  Neri 
and  Bianchi,  Bess  having  defalked  from  the 
Mancheteers  on  the  Ground  that  black 
Bread  sweetened  the  breath  and  settled  the 
Teeth,  to  the  no  small  Triumph  of  the 
Cob-loaf  Party  :  while  Daisy,  persevering 
at  her  Crusts,  sayd,  "  No,  I  can  cleave  to 
the  Rye  Bread  as  steddilie  as  anie  among 
you  ;  but  'tis  vayn  of  Father  to  maintain 
that  it  is  as  toothsome  as  a  Manchet,  or 
that  I  eat  it  to  whiten  my  Teeth,  for  there- 
by he  robs  Self-deniall  of  its  Grace." 

Father,  strange  to  say,  seemed  taken  at 
Vantage,  and  was  pausing  for  a  Retort, 
when  Hobson  coming  in,  and  whispering 
Somewhat  in  his  Ear,  he  rose  suddainlie  and 
went  forthe  of  the  Hall  with  him,  putting 


172  The  Household 

his  Head  back  agayn  to  say,  "  Rest  ye  alle 
awhile  where  ye  be,"  which  we  did,  uneasilie 
enow.  Anon  he  returns,  brushing  his  Cap, 
and  says  calmlie,  "  Now  let's  forthe  to 
Church  ;  "  and  clips  Mothers  Arm  beneathe 
his  owne,  and  leads  the  Way.  We  follow 
as  soon  as  we  can  ;  and  I,  listing  to  him 
more  than  to  the  Priest,  did  think  I  never 
heard  him  make  Response  more  composed- 
lie,  nor  sing  more  lustilie,  by  the  which  I 
founde  myself  in  stouter  Heart.  After 
Prayers  he  is  shriven,  after  which  he  saun- 
ters back  with  us  to  the  House  ;  then  brisk- 
lie  turning  on  his  Heel,  cries  to  my  Hus- 
band, "  Now,  Will,  let's  toward,  Lad,"  and 
claps  the  Wicket  after  him,  leaving  us  at 
t'other  Side,  without  so  much  as  casting 
back  a  parting  Look.  Though  he  evermore 
had  been  avised  to  let  us  companie  him  to 
the  Boat,  and  there  kiss  him  once  and  agayn 
or  ever  he  went,  I  know  not  that  I  should 
have  thoughte  much  of  this,  had  not  Daisy, 
looking  after  him  keenly,  exclaymed  some- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  173 

what  shortlie  as  she  turned  in  Doors,  "  I 
wish  I  had  not  uttered  that  Quip  about  the 
Cob-loaf." 

Oh,  how  heavilie  sped  the  Day !  The 
House,  too  big  now  for  its  Master's  dimin- 
ished Retinue,  had  yet  never  hitherto  seem- 
ed lonesome  ;  but  now  a  Somewhat  of 
dreary  anddreadfull,  inexpressible  in  Words, 
invisible  to  the  Eye,  but  apprehended  by 
the  inner  Sense,  filled  the  blank  Space  alle 
about.  For  the  first  Time  every  one  seem- 
ed idle  ;  not  only  disinclined  for  Businesse, 
but  as  though  there  were  Something  un- 
seemfie  in  addressing  one's  Self  to  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  cry  about,  nothing  to 
talk  over,  and  yet  we  alle  stood  agaze  at 
each  other  in  Groups,  like  the  Cattle  under 
the  Trees  when  a  Storm  is  at  hand.  Mercy 
was  the  first  to  start  off.  I  held  her  back, 
and  sayd,  "  What  is  to  do  ?  "  She  whisper- 
ed. "  Pray."  I  let  her  arm  drop ;  but 
Bess  at  that  Instant  comes  up  with  Cheeks 
as  colourless  as  Parchment.      She   sayth, 


1 74  The  Household 

"'Tis  made  out  now.  A  Pursuivant  dt 
Faclo  fetched  him  forthe  this  Morning!" 
We  gave  one  deep,  universal  Sigh  ;  Mercy 
broke  away,  and  I  after  her,  to  seek  the 
same  Remedy,  but  alack,  in  vayn.  .  . 

15//Z. 

How  large  a  Debt  we  owe  you,  wise  and 
holie  Men  of  old  !  How  ye  counsel  us  to 
Patience,  incite  us  to  Self-mastery,  cheei 
us  on  to  high  Emprize,  temper  in  us  the 
Heat  of  Youth,  school  our  Inexperience, 
calm  the  o'erwrought  Mind,  allay  the  An- 
guish of  Disappointment,  cheat  Suspense, 
and  master  Despair.  .  .  How  much  better 
and  happier  ye  would  make  us,  if  we  would 
but  list  your  Teaching  ! 

Bess  hath  fallen  Sick ;  no  marvell. 
Everie  one  goeth  heavilie.  Alle  Joy  is 
darkened  ;  the  Mirthe  of  the  House  is  gone. 

Will  tells  me,  that  as  they  pushed  off 
from  the  Stairs,  Father  took  him  about  the 
Neck  and  whispered,  "  I  thank  our  Lord, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  ij$ 

the   Field  is  won  ! "     Sure,  Regains  ne'er 
went  for  the  with  higher  Self-devotion. 

Having  declared  his  Inabilitie  to  take  the 
Oath  as  it  stoode,  they  bade  him,  Will  tells 
me,  take  a  Turn  in  the  Garden  while  they 
administered  it  to  sundrie  others,  thus  af- 
fording him  Leisure  for  Re-consid:ration. 
But  they  might  as  well  have  bidden  the 
Neaptide  turn  before  its  Hour.  When 
called  in  agayn,  he  was  as  firm  as  ever,  so 
was  given  in  Ward  to  the  Abbot  of  West- 
minster till  the  Kings  Grace  was  informed 
of  the  Matter.  And  now  the  Fool's  wise 
Saying  of  vindictive  Herodias  came  true, 
for  'twas  the  King's  Mind  to  have  Mercy 
on  his  old  Servant,  and  tender  him  a  quali- 
fyed  Oath  ;  but  Queen  Anne,  by  her  impor- 
tunate Clamours,  did  overrule  his  proper 
Will,  and  at  Four  Days'  End,  the  full  Oath 
being  agayn  tendered  and  rejected,  Father 
was  committed  to  the  Tower.  Oh,  wicked 
Woman,  how  could  you !  .  .  .  Sure,  you 
never  loved  a  Father 


1 76  The  Household 

May  22nu. 

In  Answer  to  our  incessant  Applications 
throughout  this  last  Month  past,  Mother 
hath  at  length  obtayned  Access  to  dear 
Father.  She  returned,  her  Eyes  nigh  swol- 
len to  closing  with  weeping.  .  .  .  We  crowd- 
ed round  about,  burning  for  her  Report, 
but  'twas  some  Time  ere  she  could  fetch 
Breath  or  Heart  to  give  it  us.  At  length 
Daisy,  kissing  her  Hand  once  and  agayn, 
draws  forthe  a  disjoynted  Tale,  somewhat 
after  this  Fashion  : 

"  Come,  give  over  weeping,  dearest 
Mother;  'twill  do  neither  him,  you,  nor  us 
anie  Goode. . . .  What  was  your  first  Speech 
of  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  my  first  Speech,  Sweetheart,  was, 
'What,  my  Goodness,  Mr.  More!  I  mar- 
veil  how  that  you,  who  were  always  counted 
a  wise  Man,  should  now  soe  play  the  Fool 
as  to  lie  here  in  this  close,  filthy  Prison, 
shut  up  with  Mice  and  Rats,  when  you 
mighte  be  abroade  and  at   your  Liberty, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  i"J 

with  t?.e  Favour  of  King  and  Council,  and 
return  to  your  righte  fayr  House,  your 
Books  and  Gallery,  and  your  Wife,  Chil- 
dren, rnd  Household,  if  soe  be  you  onlie 
woulde  but  do  what  the  Bishops  and  best 
learned  of  the  Realm  have,  without  Scruple, 
done  alreadie.' " 

"  And  what  sayd  he,  Mother,  to  that  ? ". . . 

"  Why,  then,  Sweetheart,  he  chucks  me 
under  the  Chin,  and  sayeth,  '  I  prithee, 
good  Mistress  Alice,  to  tell  me  one  Thing.' 
....  Soe  then  I  say,  '  What  Thing  ? '  Soe 
then- he  sayeth,  'Is  not  this  House,  Sweet- 
heart, as  nigh  Heaven  as  mine  own  ? ' 
Soe  then  I  jerk  my  Head  away  and  say, 
« Till ey- valley  !  Tilley- valley  ! ' " 

Sayth  Bess,  "  Sure,  Mother,  that  was  cold 
Comfort And  what  next  ? " 

"Why,  then  I  said,  'Bone  Dcus,  Man! 
Bone  Deus  !  will  this  Gear  never  be  left  ? ' 
Soe  then  he  sayth,  'Well,  then,  Mrs.  Alice, 
if  it  be  soe,  'tis  mighty  well ;  but,  for  my 
Part,  I  see  no  greate  Reason  why  I  sheuMe 

12 


1 78  The  Household 

much  joy  in  my  gay  House,  or  in  Anie« 
thing  belonging  thereunto,  when,  if  I 
shoulde  be  but  seven  Years  buried  under- 
ground, and  then  arise  and  come  thither 
agayn,  I  shoulde  not  fail  to  find  Some 
therein  that  woulde  bid  me  get  out  of 
Doors,  and  tell  me  'twas  none  o'  mine. 
What  Cause  have  I,  then,  to  care  soe 
greatlie  for  a  House  that  woulde  soe  soone 
forget  its  Master  ? '  " 

"  And  then,  Mother?  and  then  ? " 
"  Soe  then,  Sweetheart,  he  sayth,  '  Come 
tell  me,  Mrs.  Alice,  how  long  do  you  think 
we  might  reckon  on  living  to  enjoy  it?' 
Soe  I  say,  '  Some  twenty  Years,  forsooth.' 
'In  faith,'  says  he,  'had  you  said  some 
thousand  Years,  it  had  beene  Somewhat ; 
and  yet  he  were  a  very  bad  Merchant  that 
woulde  put  himselfe  in  Danger  to  lose 
Eternity  for  a  thousand  Years  ....  how 
much  the  rather  if  we  are  not  sure  to  en- 
joy it  one  Day  to  an  End ! '  Soe  then  he 
puts  me  off  with  Questions,  How  is  Willi 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  1 79 

and  Daisy?  and  Rupert ?  and  this  one? 
and  t'other  one  ?  and  the  Peacocks  ?  and 
Rabbits  ?  and  have  we  elected  a  new  King 
of  the  Cob-loaf  yet  ?  and  has  Tom  found 
his  Hoop  ?  and  is  the  Hasp  of  the  Buttery- 
hatch  mended  yet  ?  and  how  goes  the 
Court  ?  and  what  was  the  Text  0'  Sunday  ? 
and  have  I  practised  the  Viol  ?  and  how 
are  we  off  for  Money  ?  and  why  can't  he 
see  Mcsr?  Then  he  asks  for  this  Book 
and  t'other  Book,  but  I've  forgot  their 
Names ;  and  he  sayth  he's  kept  mighty 
short  of  Meat,  though  'tis  little  he  eats, 
but  his  Man  yohu  a  Wood  is  gay  an' 
hungry,  and  'tis  worth  a  World  to  see  him 
at  a  salt  Herring.  Then  he  gives  me 
Counsell  of  this  and  that,  and  puts  his 
Arm  about  me  and  says,  '  Come,  let  us 
pray ; '  but  while  he  kept  praying  for  one 
and  t'other,  I  kept  a-counting  of  his  gray 
Hairs ;  he'd  none  a  Month  agone.  And 
we're  scarce  off  our  Knees,  when  I'm 
fetched  away  ;  and  I  say,  '  When  will  you 


1 80  The  Household 

change  your  Note,  and  a<5t  like  a  wise 
Man  ? '  and  he  sayth,  '  When  ?  when  ? ' 
looking  very  profound;  'why,  .  .  .  when 
Gorse  is  out  of  Blossom,  and  Kissing  out 
of  Fashion.'  Soe  puts  me  forthe  by  the 
Shoulders  with  a  Laugh,  calling  after  me, 
'  Remember  me  over  and  over  agayn  to 
them  alle,  and  let  me  see  Meg!  " 

....  I  feel  as  if  a  String  were  tied  tight 
about  my  Heart.  Methinketh  'twill  burst 
if  we  goe  on  long  soe. 

July  25th. 

He  hath  writ  us  a  few  Lines  with  a  Coal, 
ending  with  "  Sursum  Corda,  dear  Chil- 
dren !  up  with  your  Hearts."  The  Bearer 
was  dear  Bonvisi. 

Aug.  \%th. 

The  Lord  begins  to  cut  us  short.  We 
are  now  on  very  meagre  Commons,  dear 
Mother  being  obliged  to  pay  fifteen  Shil- 
lings a-week  for  the  Board,  poor  as  it  is,  of 
Father  and  his  Servant.  She  hath  parted 
with  her  Velvet  Gown,  embroidered  over- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  1S1 

thwart,  to  my  Lady  Sands'  Woman.     Hef 
Mantle,  edged  with  Coney,  went  long  ago. 

But  we  lose  not  Heart  ;  I  think  mine  is 
becoming  annealed  in  the  Furnace,  and 
will  not  now  break.     I  have  writ  somewhat 

after   this   Fashion  to  him "  What 

do  you  think,  most  dear  Father,  doth  com- 
fort us  at  Chelsea,  during  this  your  Ab- 
sence ?  Surelie,  the  Remembrance  of 
your  Manner  of  Life  among  us,  youi  holy 
Conversation,  your  wholesome  Coun sells, 
your  Examples  of  Virtue,  of  which  there 
is  Hope  that  they  do  not  onlie  persevere 
with  you,  but  that,  by  God's  Grace,  they 
are  much  increast." 

I  weary  to  see  him Yes,  we  shall 

meet  in  Heaven,  but  how  long  first,  oh 
Lord  !   how  long  ? 

Aug.  20///. 

Now  that  I've  come  back,  let  me  seek  to 
think,  to  remember.  .  .  .  Sure,  my  Head 
will  clear  by-and-by  ?  Strange,  that  Feeling 
shoulde  have  the  Masterdom  of  Thought 


[82  The  Household 

and  Memory  in   Matters  it  is   most  con- 
cerned to  retayn. 

....  I  minded  to  put  the  Hair-cloth  and 
Cord  under  my  Farthingale,  and  one  or 
two  of  the  smaller  Books  in  my  Pouch,  as 
alsoe  some  Sweets  and  Suckets  such  as  he 
was  used  to  love.  Will  and  Bonvisi  were 
a-waiting  for  me  ;  and  deare  Bess,  putting 
forthe  her  Head  from  her  Chamber  Door, 
cries  piteoufly,  "Tell  him,  dear  Meg,  tell 
him  .  .  .  'twas  never  soe  sad  to  me  to  be 
sick  .  .  .  and  that  I  hope  ...  I  pray  .  .  .  the 
Time  may  come  . . ."  then  falls  back  swoon- 
ing into  Danccys  Arms,  whom  I  leave  cry- 
ing heartilie  over  her,  and  hasten  below  to 
receive  the  confused  Medley  of  Messages 
sent  by  every  other  Member  of  the  House. 
For  mine  owne  Part,  I  was  in  such  a  tre- 
mulous Succussion  as  to  be  scarce  fitt  to 
stand  or  goe  ;  but  Time  and  the  Tide  will 
noe  Man  bide,  and,  once  having  taken 
Boat,  the  cool  River  Ayr  allayed  my  fever- 
ed Spiritts ;  onlie  I  coulde  not  for  a  while 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  183 

get  ridd  of  the  Impression  of  poor  Dancey 
crying  over  Bess  in  her  Deliquium. 

I  think  none  o'  the  three  opened  our 
Lips  before  we  reached  Lambeth,  save,  in 
the  Reach,  Will  cried  to  the  Steersman, 
"  Look  you  run  us  not  aground,"  in  a 
sharper  Voyce  than  I  e'er  heard  from 
him.  After  passing  the  Archbishop' s  Palace, 
whereon  I  gazed  full  ruefullie,  good  Bonvisi 
beganne  to  mention  some  Rhymes  he  had 
founde  writ  with  a  Diamond  on  one  of  the 
Window-panes  at  Crosby  House,  and  would 
know  were  they  Fathers  ?  and  was't  the 
Chamber  Father  had  used  to  sleep  in  ?  I 
tolde  him  it  was,  but  knew  Nought  of  the 
Distich,  though  'twas  like  enow  to  be  his. 
And  thence  he  went  on  to  this  and  that : 
how  that  Fathers  cheerfulle,  funny  Humour 
never  forsook  him,  nor  his  brave  Heart 
never  quelled  ;  instancing  his  fearlesse  Pas- 
sage through  the  Traitor's  Gate,  asking  his 
Neighbours  whether  his  Gait  were  that  of 
a  Traditor ;  and,    on    being   sued    by   the 


i  S4  The  Household 

Porter  for  his  upper  Garment,  giving  him 
his  Cap,  which  he  sayd  was  uppermost  ; 
and  other  such  Quips  and  Passages,  which 
I  scarce  noted  nor  smiled  at,  soe  sorry  was 
I  of  Cheer. 

A  length  we  stayed  rowing :  Will  lifted 
me  out,  kissed  me,  heartened  me  up ;  and, 
indeede,  I  was  in  better  Heart  then,  having 
been  quietlie  in  Prayer  a  good  While.  After 
some  few  Forms,  we  were  led  through  sun- 
drie  Turns  and  Passages  ;  and,  or  ever  I 
was  aware,  I  founde  myself  quit  of  my 
Companions,  and  in  Father  s  Arms. 

We  both  cried  a  little  at  first ;  I  wonder 
I  wept  noe  more,  but  Strength  was  given 
me  in  that  Hour.  As  soone  as  I  coulde,  I 
lookt  him  in  the  Face,  and  he  lookt  at  me, 
and  I  was  beginning  to  note  his  hollow 
Cheeks,  when  he  sayd,  "  Why,  Meg,  you 
are  getting  freckled ; "  soe  that  made  us 
bothe  laugh.  He  sayd,  "  You  shoulde  get 
some  Freckle-water  of  the  Lady  that  sent 
me   here ;   depend   on   it,    she   hath   both 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  185 

Washes  and  Tinctures  in  Plenty  ;  and,  after 
all,  Meg,  she'll  come  to  the  same  End  at 
last,  and  be  as  the  Lady  all  Bone  and  Skin, 
whose  ghastlie  Legend  used  to  scare  thee 
soe  when  thou  wert  a  Child.  Don't  tell 
that  Story  to  thy  Children  ;  '  twill  hamper 
'  em  with  unsavoury  Images  of  Death.  Tell 
them  of  heavenlie  Hosts  a-waiting  to  carry 
off  good  Men's  Souls  in  fire-bright  Chariots, 
with  Horses  of  the  Sun,  to  a  Land  where 
they  shall  never  more  be  surbated  and 
weary,  but  walk  on  cool,  springy  Turf,  and 
among  Myrtle  Trees,  and  eat  Fruits  that 
shall  heal  while  they  delight  them,  and 
drink  the  coldest  of  cold  Water,  fresh  from 
the  River  of  Life,  and  have  Space  to  stretch 
themselves,  and  bathe,  and  leap,  and  run, 
and,  whichever  Way  they  look,  meet  Christ's 
Eyes  smiling  on  them.  Sure,  Meg,  who 
would  live,  that  coulde  die  ?  One  mighte 
as  well  be  an  Angel  shut  up  in  a  NutsheD 
as  bide  here.  Fancy  how  gladsome  the 
sweet  Spiritt  woulde  be  to  have  the  Shell 


1 86  The  Household 

cracked !  no  matter  by  whom — the  Ki?ig, 
or  Kings  Mistress.  .  .  Let  her  dainty  Foot 
but  set  him  free,  he'd  say,  '  For  this  Re- 
lease, much  Thanks.'  ....  And  how  goes 
the  Court,  Meg?" 

"  In  Faith,  Father,  never  better.  .  .  . 
There  is  Nothing  else  there,  I  heare,  but 
Dancing  and  Disporting." 

"  Never  better,  Child,  sayst  thou  ?  Alas, 
Meg,  it  pitieth  me  to  consider  what  Misery, 
poor  Soul,  she  will  shortlie  come  to.  These 
Dances  of  hers  will  prove  such  Dances 
that  she  will  spurn  our  Heads  off  like 
Footballs  ;  but  '  twill  not  be  long  ere  her 
Head  will  dance  the  like  Dance.  Mark 
you,  Meg,  a  Man  that  restraineth  not  his 
Passions,  hath  always  Something  cruel  in 
his  Nature,  and  if  there  be  a  Woman 
toward,  she  is  sure  to  suffer  heaviest  for  it, 
first  or  last.  .  .  .  Seek  Scripture  Precedent 
for't  ....  you'll  find  it  as  I  say.  Stony  as 
Death,  cruel  as  the  Grave.  Those  Phari- 
sees that  were  to  a  Man,  convifled  of  Sin, 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  1 87 

yet  haled  a  sinning  Woman  before  the 
Lord,  and  would  fain  have  seen  the  Dogs 
lick  up  her  Blood.  When  they  lick  up 
mine,  deare  Meg,  let  not  your  Heart  be 
troubled,  even  though  they  shoulde  hale 
thee  to  London  Bridge,  to  see  my  Head 
stuck  on  a  Pole.  Think,  most  dear'st,  I 
shall  then  have  more  Reason  to  weep  for 
thee  than  thou  for  me.  But  there's  noe 
weeping  in  Heaven ;  and  bear  in  Mind, 
Meg,  distincllie,  that  if  they  send  me 
thither,  '  twill  be  for  obeying  the  Law  of 
God  rather  than  of  Men.  And  after  alle, 
we  live  not  in  the  bloody,  barbarous  old 
Times  of  Crucifyings,  and  Flayings,  and 
immersing  in  Cauldrons  of  boiling  Oil. 
One  Stroke,  and  the  Affair's  done.  A 
clumsy  Chirurgeon  would  be  longer  ex- 
tracting a  Tooth.  We  have  oft  agreed 
that  the  little  Birds  struck  down  by  the 
Kite  and  Hawk  suffer  less  than  if  they 
were  reserved  to  a  naturall  Death.  There 
is  one  sensible  Difference,  indeed,  between 


1 88  The  Household 


us  :   in  our  Cases,  Preparation  is  a-want 


big." 


Hereon,  I  minded  me  to  slip  off  the 
Haircloth  and  Rope,  and  give  the  same  to 
him,  along  with  the  Books  and  Suckets,  all 
which  he  hid  away  privatelie,  making  merry 
at  the  last. 

"'Twoulde  tell  well  before  the  Council," 
quoth  he,  "  that  on  searching  the  Prison- 
cell  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  there  was  founde, 
flagitiouslie  and  mysteriousiie  laid  up  .  .  . 
a  Piece  of  Barley-sugar  !  " 

Then  we  talked  over  sundrie  Home- 
matters  ;  and  anon,  having  now  both  of  us 
attayned  unto  an  equable  and  chastened 
Serenitie  of  Mind,  which  needed  not  any 
false  Shows  of  Mirth  to  hide  the  naturall 
Complexion  of,  he  sayth,  "  I  believe,  Meg, 
they  that  have  put  me  here,  ween  they 
have  done  me  a  high  Displeasure ;  but  I 
assure  thee,  on  my  Faith,  mine  owne  good 
Daughter,  that  if  it  had  not  beene  for  my 
Wife,  and  for  you,  my  dear,  good  Children 


of  Sir  Thcs.  More.  189 

I  would  faine  have  beene  closed  up  long 
ere  this  in  as  strait  a  Room,  and  straiter 
too." 

Thereon  he  shewed  me  how  illegal  was 
his  Imprisonment,  there  being  noe  Statute 
to  authorize  the  Imposition  of  the  Oath  ; 
and  he  delivered  himself,  with  some  Dis- 
pleasure, agaynst  the  Kings  ill  Counsellors. 

"  And  surelie,  Meg"  quoth  he,  "  'tis  pitie 
that  anie  Christian  Prince  shoulde,  by  a 
flexible  Council  readie  to  follow  his  Affec- 
tions, and  by  a  weak  Clergy  lacking  Grace 
to  stand  constantly  to  the  Truth  as  they 
have  learned  it,  be  with  Flattery  so  con- 
stantly abused.  The  Lotus  Fruit  fabled 
by  the  Ancients,  which  made  them  that 
ate  it  lose  all  Relish  for  the  daylie  Bread 
of  their  own  Homes,  was  Flattery,  Meg,  as 
I  take  it  and  Nothing  else.  And  what  less 
was  the  Song  of  the  Syrens,  agaynst  which 
Ulysses  made  his  Sailors  stop  their  Ears, 
and  which  he,  with  all  his  Wisdom,  coulde 
not  listen  to  without  struggling  to  be  un- 


190  The  Household 

bound  from  the  Mast  ?  Even  Praise,  Meg\ 
which,  moderately  given,  may  animate  and 
cheer  forward  the  noblest  Minds,  yet,  too 
lavishly  bestowed,  will  decrease  and  palsy 
their  Strength,  e'en  as  an  Overdose  of  the 
most  generous  and  sprightlie  Medicine  may 
prove  mortiferous.  But  Flattery  is  noe 
Medicine,  but  a  rank  Poison,  which  hath 
slayn  Kings,  yea,  and  mighty  Kings  ;  and 
they  whu  love  it,  the  Lord  knoweth  afar 
off;  knoweth  distantlie,  has  no  Care  to 
know  intimatelie,  for  they  are  none  of  His." 
Thus  we  went  on,  from  one  Theme  to 
another,  till  methinketh  a  heavenlie  Light 
seemed  to  shine  alle  about  us,  like  as  when 
the  Angel  entered  the  Prison  of  Peter.  I 
hung  upon  everie  Word  and  Thought  that 
issued  from  his  Lips,  and  drank  them  in  as 
thirsty  Land  sucks  up  the  tender  Rain. . . . 
Mad  the  Angel  of  Death  at  that  Hour  come 
in  to  fetch  both  of  us  away,  I  woulde  not 
have  sayd  him  nay.  At  length,  as  Time 
wore  on,  and  I  knew  I  shoulde  soone  be 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  igi 

fetcht  forthe,  I  coulde  not  but  wish  I  had 
the  Clew  to  some  secret  Passage  or  Sub- 
terraneal,  of  the  which  there  were  doubtless 
Plenty  in  the  thick  Walls,  whereby  we 
might  steal  off  together.  Father  made 
Answer,  "  Wishes  never  filled  a  Sack.  I 
make  it  my  Businesse,  Meg,  to  wish  as 
little  as  I  can,  except  that  I  were  better 
and  wiser.  You  fancy  these  four  Walls 
lonesome ;  how  oft,  dost  thou  suppose,  I 
here  receive  Plato  and  Socrates,  and  this 
and  that  holy  Saint  and  Martyr?  My 
Gaolers  can  noe  more  keep  them  out  than 
they  can  exclude  the  Sunbeams.  Thou 
knowest,  Jesus  stood  among  his  Disciples 
when  the  Doors  were  shut.  I  am  not  more 
lonelie  than  St.  Anthony  in  his  Cave,  and  I 
have  a  divine  Light  e'en  here,  whereby  to 
con  the  Lesson,  '  God  is  Love.'  The  Fu- 
tilitie  of  our  Enemies'  Efforts  to  make  us 
miserable  was  never  more  stronglie  proven 
to  me  than  when  I  was  a  mere  Boy  in 
Cardinall  Mortons  Service.     Having   un- 


192  The  Household 

wittinglie  angered  one  of  his  Chaplains,  a 
choleric  and  e'en  malignant-spirited  Man, 
he  did,  of  his  owne  Authoritie,  shut  me  up 
for  some  Hours  in  a  certayn  damp  Vault; 
which,  to  a  Lad  afeard  of  Ghosts  and 
devilish  Apparitions,  woulde  have  beene 
fearsome  enow.  Howbeit,  I  there  cast  my- 
self on  the  Ground  with  my  Back  sett 
agaynst  the  Wall,  and  mine  Arm  behind 
my  Head,  this  Fashion  ....  and  did  then 
and  there,  by  Reason  of  a  young  Heart, 
quiet  Conscience,  and  quick  Phansy,  con- 
jure up  such  a  livelie  Picture  of  the  Queen 
o'  the  Fairies'  Court,  and  alle  the  Sayings 
and  Doings  therein,  that  never  was  I  more 
sorry  than  when  my  Gaoler  let  me  goe 
free,  and  bade  me  rise  up  and  be  doing.  In 
Place,  therefore,  my  Daughter,  of  thinking 
of  me  in  thy  Night  Watches  as  beating  my 
Wings  agaynst  my  Cage  Bars,  trust  that 
God  comes  to  look  in  upon  me  without 
Knocking  or  Bell-ringing.  Often  in  Spiritt 
I  am  with  you  alle :  in  the  Chapel,  in  the 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  193 

Hall,  in  the  garden  ;  now  in  the  Hay-field, 
with  my  Head  on  thy  Lap  ;  now  on  the 
River,  with  Will  and  Rupert  at  the  Oar. 
You  see  me  not  about  your  Path,  you  won't 
see  my  disembodied  Spiritt  beside  you 
hereafter,  but  it  may  be  close  upon  you 
once  and  agayn  for  alle  that :  maybe,  at 
Times,  when  you  have  prayed  with  most 
Passion,  or  suffered  with  most  Patience,  ci 
performed  my  Hests  with  most  Exactness, 
or  remembered  my  Care  of  you  with  most 
Affection.  And  now,  good  Speed,  good 
Meg,-\  hear  the  Key  turn  in  the  Door. . . . 
This  Kiss  for  thy  Mother,  this  for  Bess,  this 
for  Cecil, ....  this  and  this  for  my  whole 
School.  Keep  dry  Eyes  and  a  hopeful! 
Heart ;  and  reflect  that  Nought  but  unpar- 
doned Sin  shoulde  make  us  weep  for  ever." 

September. 

Seeing  the  Woodman  fell  a  noble  Tree, 

which,  as  it  went  to  the  Ground,  did  uptear 

severall  small  Plants  by  the  Roots,  me* 

13 


194  The  Household 

thoughte  such  woulde  be  the  Fall  of  dear 
Father,  herein  more  sad  than  that  of  the 
Abbot  of  Sion  and  the  CJiarterJiouse  Monks, 
inasmuch  as,  being  celibate,  they  involve 
noe  others  in  theire  Ruin.  Brave,  holie 
Martyrs !  how  cheerfullie  they  went  to 
theire  Death.  I'm  glad  to  have  seene  how 
pious  Men  may  turn  e'en  an  ignominious 
Sentence  into  a  kind  of  Euthanasy.  Dear 
FatJier  bade  me  note  how  they  bore  them- 
selves as  Bridegrooms  going  to  theire  Mar- 
riage, and  converted  what  mighte  have 
beenc  a  Shock  to  my  surcharged  Spiritts, 
into  a  Lesson  of  deepe  and  high  Comfort. 

One  Thing  hath  grieved  me  sorelie.  He 
mistooke  Somewhat  I  sayd  at  parting  for 
an  Implication  of  my  Wish  that  he  shoulde 
yield  up  his  Conscience.  Oh  no,  dearest 
FatJier,  that  be  far  from  me  !  It  seems  to 
have  cut  him  to  -the  Heart,  for  he  hath  writ 
that  "  none  of  the  terrible  Things  that  may 
befall  him  touch  him  soe  nearlie  as  that 
his  dearlie  beloved  Child,  whose  Opinion 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  195 

he  soe  much  values,  shoulde  desire  him  to 
overrule  his  Conscience."  That  be  far 
from  me,  Fatfier  !  I  have  writ  to  explayn 
the  Matter,  but  his  Reproach,  undeserved 
though  it  be,  hath  troubled  my  Heart. 

November. 

Parliament  will  meet  to-morrow.  'Tis 
expected  Father  and  the  good  Bishop  of 
RocJicstcr  will  be  attainted  for  Misprision 
of  Treason  by  the  slavish  Members  thereof. 
And  though  not  given  hithertoe  unto  much 
Heede  of  Omens  and  Bodements  while 
our  Hearts  were  light  and  our  Courage 
high,  yet  now  the  coming  Evill  seemeth 
foreshadowed  unto  alle  by  I  know  not  how 
many  melancholick  Presages,  sent,  for 
aught  we  know,  in  Mercy.  Now  that  the 
Days  are  dark  and  short,  and  the  Nights 
stormy,  we  shun  to  linger  much  after  Dusk 
in  lone  Chambers  and  Passages  ;  and  what 
was  sayd  of  the  Enemies  of  Israel  may  be 
nigh  sayd  of  us,  "  that  a  falling  Leaf  shalJ 


i<)6  The  Household 

chase  them."  I'm  sure  "a  Going  in  the 
Tops  of  the  Mulberry  Trees,"  on  a  bluster- 
ous Evening,  is  enow  to  draw  us  alle, 
Men,  Mothers,  and  Maids,  together  in  an 
Heap.  .  .  .  We  goe  aboute  the  House  in 
Twos  and  Threes,  and  care  not  much  to 
leave  the  Fireside.  Last  S?mday  we  had 
closed  about  the  Hearth,  and  little  2?z7/was 
a  reading  by  the  Fire-light  how  Herodias1 
Daughter  danced  off  the  Head  of  St.^o/m 
the  Baptist,  when  down  comes  an  emptie 
Swallow's  Nest  tumbling  adown  the  Chim- 
nie,  bringing  with  it  enow  of  Soot,  Smoke, 
and  Rubbish  to  half  smother  us  alle ;  but 
the  Dust  was  Nothing  to  the  Dismay 
thereby  occasioned,  and  I  noted  one  or  two 
of  our  bravest  turn  as  pale  as  Death. 
Then,  the  Rats  have  skirmished  and  gal- 
lopped  behind  the  Wainscoat  more  like  a 
Troop  of  Horse  than  a  Herd  of  such  small 
Deer,  to  the  infinite  Annoyance  of  Mother, 
who  coulde  not  be  more  firmly  persuaded 
they  were  about  to  leave  a  falling  Houses 


of  Sir  Thos.  More,  197 

iff,  like  the  scared  Priests  in  the  Temple  of 
Jerusalem,  she  had  heard  a  Voyce  utter, 
"  Let  us  depart  hence."  The  round  upper 
Half  of  the  Cob-loaf  rolled  off  the  Table 
this  Morning  ;  and  Rupert,  as  he  picked  it 
up,  gave  a  Kind  of  Shudder,  and  muttered 
somewhat  about  a  Head  rolling  from  the 
Scaffold.  Worse  than  this  was  o'  Ttiesday 
Night ...  'Twas  Bed-time,  and  yet  none 
were  liking  to  goe,  when,  o'  suddain,  we 
heard  a  Screech  that  made  every  Body's 
Heart  thrill,  followed  by  one  or  two  hollow 
Groans.  Will  snatches  up  the  Lamp  and 
runs  forth,  I  close  following,  and  alle  the 
others  at  our  Heels  ;  and  after  looking  into 
sundrie  deserted  Cup-boards  and  Corners, 
we  descend  tho  broad  Stone  Steps  of  the 
Cellars,  half  way  down  which  Will,  stum- 
bling over  Something  he  sees  not,  takes  a 
flying  Leap  to  clear  himself  down  to  the 
Bottom,  luckily  without  extinguishing  the 
Lamp.  We  find  Gillian  on  the  Steps  in  a 
Swoon  :  on  bringing  her  to,  she  exclayms 


1 98  The  Household 

about:  a  Ghost  without  a  Head,  wrapped  in 
a  Winding-sheet,  that  confronted  her,  and 
then  sank  to  the  Ground  as  she  entered 
the  Vaults.  We  cast  a  fearfulle  Look 
about,  and  descry  a  tall  white  Sack  of  Flour, 
recently  overturned  by  the  Rats,  which 
clears  up  the  Mystery,  and  procures  Gillian 
a  little  Jeering ;  but  we  alle  return  to  the 
1 1  all  with  fluttered  Spiritts.  Another  Time 
I,  going  up  to  the  Nurserie  in  the  Dark> 
on  hearing  Baby  cry,  am  passed  on  the 
Stairs  by  I  know  not  what,  breathing 
heavilie.  I  reache  forthe  my  Arm,  but  pass 
cleare  through  the  spirituall  Nature,  what- 
ever it  is,  yet  distinc~tlie  feel  my  Cheek  and 
Neck  fanned  by  its  Breath.  I  turn  very 
faint,  and  get  Nurse  to  goe  with  me  when 
I  return,  bearing  a  Light,  yet  think  it  as 
well  to  say  nought  to  distress  the  rest. 

But  worst  of  alle  was  last  Night  .  .  . 
After  I  had  beene  in  Bed  awhile,  I  minded 
me  that  deare    Will  had  not  returned  me 
Fathers  Letter.     I  awoke  him,  and  asked 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  199 

if  he  had  broughte  it  up  Stairs  ;  he  sleepily 
replied1  he  had  not ;  soe  I  hastily  arose, 
threw  on  a  Cloke,  took  a  Light,  and  entered 
the  Gallery ;  when,  half  way  along  it,  be- 
tween me  and  the  pale  Moonshine,  I  was 
scared  to  behold  a  slender  Figure  alle  in 
White,  with  naked  Feet,  and  Arras  ex- 
tended. I  stoode  agaze,  speechlesse,  and, 
to  my  Terror,  made  out  the  Features  of 
Bess  ....  her  Eyes  open,  but  vacant ; 
then  saw  yohn  Daucey  softly  stealing  after 
her,  and  figning  to  me  with  his  Finger  on 
his  Lips.  She  passed  without  noting  me, 
on  to  Father s  Door;  there  knelt  as  if  in 
Prayer,  making  a  low  sort  of  Wail,  while 
Dancey,  with  Tears  running  down  his 
Cheeks,  whispered,  "Trs  the  third  Time 
of  her  thus  sleep-walking  ....  the  Token 
of  how  troubled  a  Mind  ! " 

We  disturbed  her  not,  dreading  that  a 
suddain  Waking  might  bring  on  Madness  ; 
soe  after  making  Moan  awhile,  she  kisses 
the  senseless  Door,  rises  up,  moves  towards 


200  The  Household 

her  own  Chamber,  followed  by  Dancey  and 
me,  wrings  her  Hands  a  little,  then  lies 
down,  and  graduallie  falls  into  what  seems 
a  dreamlesse  Sleep,  we  watching  her  in 
Silence  till  she's  quiet,  and  then  squeezing 
each  other's  Hands  ere  we  part. 

Will  was  wide  awake  when  I  got 

back  ;  he  sayd,  "  Why,  Meg,  how  long  you 
have  beene !  coulde  you  not  lighte  on  the 
Letter  ?"....  When  I  tolde  him  what 
had  hindered  me  by  the  Way,  he  turned  his 
Face  to  the  Wall  and  wept. 

Midnight. 

The  wild  Wind  is  abroad,  and,  methink- 
eth,  Nothing  else.  Sure,  how  it  rages 
through  our  empty  Courts !  In  such  a 
Season,  Men,  Beasts,  and  Fowls  cower 
beneath  the  Shelter  of  their  rocking  Walls, 
yet  almost  fear  to  trust  them.  Lord,  I 
know  that  thou  canst  give  the  Tempest 
double  Force,  but  do  not,  I  beseech  Thee ! 
Oh  !  have  Mercy  on  the  frail  Dwelling  and 
the  Ship  at  Sea. 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  20 1 

Dear  little  Bill  hath  ta'en  a  feverish 
Attack,  I  watch  beside  him  whilst  his 
Nurse  sleeps.  Earlie  in  the  Night  his 
Mind  wandered,  and  he  told  me  of  a  pretty 
pye-bald  Poney,  noe  bigger  than  a  Bee,  that 
had  golden  Housings  and  Barley-sugar 
Eyes  ;  then  dozed,  but  ever  and  anon  kept 
starting  up,  crying,  "  Mammy  dear  ! "  and 
softlie  murmured,  "  Oh ! "  when  he  saw  I 
was  by.  At  length  I  gave  him  my  Fore- 
finger to  hold,  which  kept  him  ware  of  my 
Presence  without  speaking  ;  but  presentlie 
he  stares  hard  towards  the  Foot  of  the  Bed, 
and  says  fearfullie,  "  Mother,  why  hangs 
yon  Hatchet  in  the  Ayr,  with  its  sharp 
Edge  turned  towards  us  ?  "  I  rise,  move 
the  Lamp,  and  say,  "  Do  you  see  it  now  ? " 
He  sayth,  "  No,  not  now,"  and  closes  his 
Eyes.  After  a  good  Space,  during  the 
which  I  hoped  he  slept,  he  says  in  quite  an 
altered  Tone,  'most  like  unto  soft,  sweet 
Music,  "There's  a  pretty  little  Cherub  there 
now,  alle  Head  and  noe  Body,  with  two 


202  The  Household 

little  Wings  aneath  his  Chin  ;  but  for  alle 
he's  soe  Pretty,  he  is  just  like  dear  Gaffer, 
and  seems  to  know  me,  ....  and  he'll  have 
a  Body  agayn  too,  I  believe,  by  and  by.  .  .  . 
Mother,  Mother,  tell  Hobbinol  there's  such  a 
gentle  Lamb  in  Heaven  ! "  and  soe,  slept. 

17th. 

He's  gone,  my  pretty  .  .  .  . !  slipt  through 

my  Fingers  like  a  Bird  !  upfled  to  his  own 

native  Skies  ;  and  yet,  whenas  I  think  on 

him,  I  cannot  choose  but  weepe.  .  .  .  Such 

a  guilelesse little  Lamb!  .  .  .  My  Billy-bird  ! 

his  Mother's  owne  Heart ! — They  are  alle 

wondrous  kind  to  me.  .  .  . 

27th. 

How  strange  that  a  little  Child  shoulde 

be  permitted  to  suffer  soe  much  Payn,  when 

of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  !     But 

'tis  onlie  transient,  whereas  a  Mother  makes 

it  permanent,  by  thinking  it  over  and  over 

agayn.     One  Lesson  is  taughte  us  betimes, 

that  a  naturall  Death  is  not,  necessarilie, 

the  most  easie.     We  must  alle  die.  .  .  . 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  203 

As  poor  Patteson  was  used  to  say,  "  The 
greatest  King  that  ever  was  made,  must 
bed  at  last  with  Shovel  and  Spade ; " .  .  . 
and  I'd  sooner  have  my  Billy  s  Baby  Death- 
bed than  King  Harry  s,  or  Nan  Boleyiis 
either,  however  manie  Years  they  may  yet 
carry  Matters  with  a  high  Hand.  Oh,  you 
Ministers  of  Evill,  whoever  ye  be,  visible 
or  invisible,  you  shall  not  build  a  Wall  be- 
tween my  God  and  me.  .  .  .  I've  Something 
within  me  grows  stronger  and  stronger,  as 
Times  grow  more  and  more  Evill;  some 
woulde  call  it  Resolution,  but  methinketh 
'tis  Faith. 

Meantime,  Fathers  Foes  ....  alack  that 
anie  can  shew  'emselves  such !  .  .  .  .  are 
aiming,  by  fayr  Seemings  of  friendlie  Con- 
ference, to  draw  from  him  Admissions  thev 
can  come  at  after  noe  other  Fashion.  The 
new  Solicitor  Generall  hath  gone  to  the 
Tower  to  deprive  him  of  the  few  Books  I 
have  taken  him  from  Time  to  Time.  .  . 
Ah,  Master  Rick,  you  must  deprive  him  of 


204  The  Household 

his  Brains  afore  you  can  rob  him  of  their 
Contents  ! .  .  .  And,  while  having  'em  packt 
up,  he  falls  into  easie  Dialogue  with  him, 
as  thus,  ..."  Why  now,  sure,  Mr.  More, 
were  there  an  Act  of  Parliament  made 
that  all  the  Realm  shoulde  take  me  for 
King,  you  woulde  take  me  for  such  with 
the  Rest." 

"  Aye,  that  woulde  I,  Sir,"  returns  Father. 

"  Forsooth,  then,"  pursues  Rich,  "  we'll 
suppose  another  Act  that  should  make  me 
the  Pope.  Woulde  you  not  take  me  for 
Popef" 

"  Or  suppose  another  Case,  Mr.  Rich," 
returns  Father,  "that  another  Act  should 
pass,  that  God  shoulde  not  be  God,  would 
you  say  well  and  good  ? " 

"  No,  truly,"  returns  the  other  hastilie, 
"  for  no  Parliament  coulde  make  such  Act 
lawful." 

"  True,  as  you  say,"  repeats  Father,  "  they 
coulde  not,"  ....  soe  eluded  the  Net  of 
the  Fowler ;   but  how  miserable  and   un- 


of  Sir  TJws.  More.  205 

handsome   a   Device   to   lay  wait  for  him 
thus  ! 

....  I  stole  forthe,  ere  'twas  Lighte, 
this  damp  chill  Morning,  to  pray  beside  the 
little  Grave,  but  found  dear  Daisy  there  be- 
fore me.  How  Christians  love  one  another ! 
Will's  Loss  is  a  heavie  as  mine,  yet  he 
bears  with  me  tenderlie.  Yesternighte,  he 
sayth  to  me  half  reproachful  lie,  "Am  not 
I  better  unto  thee  than  ten  Sons  ?  " 

March,  1535. 
Spring  comes,  that  brings  Rejuvenesence 
to  the  Land,  and  Joy  to  the  Heart,  but  it 
brings  none  to  us,  for  where  Hope  dieth, 
Joy  dieth.  But  Patience,  Soul ;  God's  yet 
in  the  Aumry ! 

May  7. 
Father  arraigned. 

July  I. 
By  Reason  of  Will's  minding  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  Triall,  which,  for  the  Concourse 


206  The  Household 

of  Spectators,  demanded  his  earlie  Atten- 
dance, he  committed  the  Care  of  me,  with 
Bess,  to  Dancey,  who  got  us  Places  to  see 
Father  on  his  Way  from  the  Tower  to  West- 
minster Hall.  We  coulde  not  come  at 
him  for  the  Crowd,  but  clambered  on  a 
Bench  to  gaze  our  very  Hearts  away  after 
him  as  he  went  by,  sallow,  thin,  grey-haired, 
yet  in  Mien  not  a  Whit  cast  down.  Wrapt 
in  a  coarse  woollen  Gown,  and  leaning  on 
a  Staff;  which  unwonted  Support  when 
Bess  markt,  she  hid  her  Eyes  on  my  Shoul- 
der and  wept  sore,  but  soon  lookt  up  agayn, 
though  her  Eyes  were  soe  blinded,  I  think 
she  coulde  not  see  him.  His  Face  was 
calm,  but  grave,  as  he  came  up,  but  just  as 
he  passed,  he  caughte  the  Eye  of  some  one 
in  the  Crowd,  and  smiled  in  his  old,  frank 
Way  ;  then  glanced  up  towards  the  Win- 
dows with  the  bright  Look  he  hath  so  ofl 
cast  to  me  at  my  Casement,  but  saw  us  not. 
I  coulde  not  help  crying  "  Father  !  "  but  he 
heard  me  not ;  perchance  'twas  soe  best    . 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  207 

I  wouldc  not  have  had  his  Face  cloud  at 
the  Sighte  of  poor  Bessy  s  Tears. 

.  .  .  Will  tells  me  the  Indictment  was  the 
longest  ever  hearde,  on  four  Counts.  First, 
his  Opinion  of  the  Kings  Marriage.  Se- 
cond, his  writing  sundrie  Letters  to  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  counselling  him  to 
hold  out.  Third,  refusing  to  acknowledge 
his  Grace's  Supremacy.  Fourth,  his  posi- 
tive Deniall  of  it,  and  thereby  willing  to 
deprive  the  King  of  his  Dignity  and  Title. 

When  the  reading  of  this  was  over,  the 
Lord  Chancellor  sayth,  "  Ye  see  how  griev- 
ouslie  you  have  offended  the  King  his 
Grace,  but  and  yet  he  is  soe  mercifulle,  as 
that  if  ye  will  lay  aside  your  Obstinacie, 
and  change  your  Opinion,  we  hope  ye  may 
yet  obtayn  Pardon." 

Father  makes  Answer  .  .  .  and  at  Sounde 
of  his  deare  Voyce  alle  Men  hold  their 
Breaths.  ..."  Most  noble  Lords,  I  have 
great  Cause  to  thank  your  Honours  for  this 
yoar  Courtesie  .  .  .  but  I  pray  Almighty 


208  The  Household 

God  1  may  continue  in  the  Mind   I'm  in, 
through  his  Grace,  until  Death." 

They  coulde  not  make  goode  their  Ac- 
cusation agaynst  him.  'Twas  onlie  on  the 
last  Count  he  could  be  made  out  a  Traitor, 
and  Proof  oft  had  they  none  ;  how  coulde 
they  have  ?  He  shoulde  have  beene  acquit- 
ted out  of  hand,  'steade  of  which,  his  bitter 
Enemy,  my  Lord  Chancellor,  called  on  him 
for  his  Defence.  Will  sayth  there  was  a 
generall  Murmur  or  Sigh  ran  through  the 
Court.  Father,  however,  answered  the  Bid- 
ding by  beginning  to  express  his  Hope  that 
the  Effect  of  long  Imprisonment  mighte 
not  have  beene  such  upon  his  Mind  and 
Body,  as  to  impair  his  Power  of  rightlie 
meeting  alle  the  Charges  agaynst  him  .  .  . 
when,  turning  faint  with  long  standing,  he 
staggered  and  loosed  Hold  of  his  Staff, 
whereon  he  was  accorded  a  Seat.  'Twas 
but  a  Moment's  Weakness  of  the  Body,  and 
he  then  proceeded  frankly  to  avow  his 
having  opposed  the  Kings  Marriage  to  his 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  209 

Grace  himself,  which  he  was  so  far  from 
thinking  High  Treason,  that  he  shoulde 
rather  have  deemed  it  Treachery  to  have 
withholden  his  Opinion  from  his  Sovereign 
King  when  solicited  by  him  for  his  Counsell. 
His  Letters  to  the  good  Bishop  he  proved 
to  have  been  harmlesse.  Touching  his  de- 
clining to  give  his  Opinion,  when  askt,  con- 
cerning the  Supremacy,  he  alleged  there 
could  be  noe  Transgression  in  holding  his 
Peace  thereon,  God  onlie  being  cognizant 
of  our  Thoughts. 

"  Nay,"  interposeth  the  Attorney  Generall, 
"  your  Silence  was  the  Token  of  a  Malicious 
Mind." 

"  I  had  always  understoode,"  answers 
Father,  "  that  Silence  stoode  for  Consent. 
Quitacet,  cons entire  videtur ;"  which  made 
Sundrie  smile.  On  the  last  Charge,  he  pro- 
tested he  had  never  spoken  Word  agaynst 
the  Law  unto  anie  Man. 

The  Jury  are  about  to  acquit  him,  when 
o'  suddain.  the  Solicitor  Generall 'offers  him- 


V 


2io  The  Household 

self  as  Witness  for  the  Crown,  is  sworn,  and 
gives  Evidence  of  his  Dialogue  with  Fathct 
in  the  Tower,  falselie  adding,  like  a  liar  as 
he  is,  that  on  his  saying,  "  No  Parliament 
coulde  make  a  Law  that  God  shoulde  not 
be  God,"  Father  had  rejoyned,  "  No  more 
coulde  they  make  the  King  supreme  Head 
of  the  Church." 

I  marvell  the  Ground  opened  not  at  his 
Feet.  Father  brisklie  made  Answer,  "  If  I 
were  a  Man,  my  Lords,  who  regarded  not 
an  Oath,  ye  know  well  I  needed  not  stand 
now  at  this  Bar.  And  if  the  Oath  which 
you,  Mr.  Rich,  have  just  taken  be  true, 
then  I  pray  I  may  never  see  God  in  the 
Face.  In  good  Truth,  Mr.  Rich,  I  am 
more  sorry  for  your  Perjurie  than  my  Perill. 
You  and  I  once  dwelt  long  together  in  one 
Parish  ;  your  Manner  of  Life  and  Conver- 
sation from  your  Youth  up  were  familiar 
to  me  ;  and  it  paineth  me  to  tell  ye  were 
ever  held  very  light  of  your  Tongue,  a  great 
Dicer  and  Gamester,  and  not  of  anie  com 


of  Sir  TJios.  More.  2 1 1 

mendable  P'ame  either  there  or  in  the  Tem- 
ple, the  Inn  to  which  ye  have  belonged.  It 
is  creditable,  therefore,  to  your  Lordships, 
that  the  Secrets  of  my  Conscience  touch- 
ing the  Oath,  which  I  never  woulde  reveal, 
after  the  Statute  once  made,  either  to  the 
Kings  Grace  himself,  nor  to  anie  of  you, 
my  honourable  Lords,  I  should  have  thus 
tightly  blurted  out  in  private  Parley  with 
Mr.  Rick?" 

In  short,  the  Villain  made  not  goode 
his  Poynt :  ne'erthelesse,  the  Issue  of  this 
black  Day  was  aforehand  fixed  ;  my  Lord 
Andley  was  primed  with  a  virulent  and  ve- 
nomous Speech  ;  the  Jury  retired,  and  pre- 
sentlie  returned  with  a  Verdict  of  Guilty ; 
for  they  knew  what  the  King's  Grace 
woulde  have  'em  doe  in  that  Case. 

Up  starts  my  Lord  Andlcy, — commences 
pronouncing  Judgment,  when — 

"  My  Lord,"  says  Father,  "  in  my  Time, 
the  Custom  in  these  Cases  was  ever  to  ask 
the  Prisoner,  before  Sentence,  whether  he 


2 1 2  The  Household 

coulde   give   anie  Reason  why  Judgment 
shoulde  not  proceed  agaynst  him." 

My  Lord,  in  some  Confusion,  pats  the 
Question. 

And  then  came  the  frightful  Sentence. 

Yes.,  yes,  my  Soul,  I  know ;  there  were 
Saints  of  old  sawn  asunder.  Men  of  whom 
the  World  was  not  worthy. 

....  Then  he  spake  unto  'em  his  Mind ; 
and  bade  his  Judges  and  Accusers  farewell ; 
hoping  that  like  as  St.  Paul  was  present 
and  consenting  unto  St.  Stephens  Death, 
and  yet  both  were  now  holy  Saints  in 
Heaven,  soe  he  and  they  might  speedilie 
meet  there,  joint  Heirs  of  e'erku»ting  Sal- 
vation. 

Meantime  poor  Bess  and  Cecilie,  spent 
with  Grief  and  long  waiting,  were  forct  to 
be  carried  Home  by  Heron,  or  ever  Father 
returned  to  his  Prison.  Wa'i't  less  Feeling, 
or  more  Strength  of  Body,  enabled  me  to 
bide  at  the  Tower  Wharf  with  Dancey? 
God  knoweth.    They  brought  him  back  by 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  2 1 3 

Water  ;  my  poor  Sisters  must  have  passed 
him.  .  .  .  The  first  Thing  I  saw  was  the 
Axe,  turned  with  its  Edge  towards  him — 
my  first  Note  of  his  Sentence.  I  forc~t  my 
Way  through  the  Crowd  ....  some  one 
laid  a  cold  Hand  on  mine  Arm  ;  'twas  poor 
Patteson,  soe  changed  I  scarce  knew  him, 
with  a  Rosary  of  Gooseberries  he  kept 
running  through  his  Fingers.  He  sayth. 
"  Bide  your  Time,  Mistress  Meg ;  when  he 
comes  past,  I'll  make  a  Passage  for  ye ; 
....  Oh,  Brother,  Brother !  what  ailed  thee 
to  refuse  the  Oath  ?  I've  taken  it !  "  In 
another  Moment,  "  Now,  Mistress,  now !  " 
and  flinging  his  Arms  right  and  left,  made 
a  Breach  through  which  I  darted,  fearlesse 
of  Bills  and  Halberds,  and  did  cast  mine 
Arms  about  Fathers  Neck.  He  cries,  "  My 
Meg 7"  and  hugs  me  to  him  as  though  our 
very  Souls  shoulde  grow  together.  He 
sayth,  "  Bless  thee,  bless  thee  !  Enough, 
enough,  my  Child  ;  what  mean  ye,  to  weep 
and    break    mine     Heart  ?       Remember. 


214  The  Household 

though  I  die  innocent,  'tis  not  without  the 
Will  of  God,  who  coulde  have  turned  mine 
Enemie's  Hearts,  if  'twere  best ;  therefore 
possess  your  Soul  in  Patience.  Kiss  them 
all  for  me,  thus  and  thus.  .  .  ."  soe  gave  me 
back  into  Danceys  Arms,  the  Guards  about 
him  alle  weeping ;  but  I  coulde  not  thus 
lose  Sight  of  him  for  ever ;  soe,  after  a 
Minute's  Pause,  did  make  a  second  Rush, 
brake  away  from  Dancey,  clave  to  Father 
agayn,  and  agayn  they  had  Pitie  on  me, 
and  made  Pause  while  I  hung  upon  his 
Neck.  This  Time  there  were  large  Drops 
standing  on  his  dear  Brow,  and  the  big 
Tears  were  swelling  into  his  Eyes.  He 
whispered,  "  Meg,  for  Christ's  Sake  don't 
unman  me !  thou'lt  not  deny  my  last  Re- 
quest ? "  I  sayd,  "  Oh  !  no  ! "  and  at  once 
loosened  mine  Arms.  "  God's  Blessing  be 
with  you ! "  he  sayth  with  a  last  Kiss.  I 
coulde  not  help  crying,  "  My  Father,  my 
Father!"  "The  Chariot  of  Israel,  and  the 
Horsemen  thereof!"  he  vehementlie  whis* 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  215 

pers,  pointing  upwards  with  soe  passionate 
a  Regard,  that  I  look  up,  almost  expecting 
a  beatific  Vision  ;  and  when  I  turn  about 
agayn,  he's  gone,  and  I  have  noe  more 
Sense  nor  Life  till  I  find  myself  agayn  in 
mine  owne  Chamber,  my  Sisters  chafing 
my  Hands. 

July  §th. 

Alle's  over  now.  .  .  .  they've  done  theire 
worst,  and  yet  I  live.  There  were  Women 
coulde  stand  aneath  the  Cross.  The  Mac- 
cabees Mother — .  .  .  .  yes,  my  Soul,  yes  ;  I 
know. — Nought  but  unpardoned  Sin.  .  .  . 
The  Chariot  of  Israel. 

6th. 

Dr.  Clement  hath  beene  with  us.  Sayth 
he  went  up  as  blythe  as  a  Bridegroom  to 
be  clothed  upon  with  Immortality. 

Riipert  stoode  it  alle  out.  Perfect  Love 
casteth  out  Feare.     Soe  did  his. 

7th. 
.  .  .  My  most  precious  Treasure  is  this 


2i6  The  Household 

deare  Billet,  writ  with  a  Coal ;  the  last 
Thing  he  sett  his  Hand  to,  wherein  he 
sayth,  "  I  never  liked  your  Manner  towards 
me  better  than  when  you  kissed  me  last." 

1 9//;. 

They  have  let  us  bury  his  poor  mangled 
Trunk ;  but,  as  sure  as  there's  a  Sun  in 
Heaven,  I'll  have  his  Head ! — before  an- 
other Sun  hath  risen,  too.  If  wise  Men 
won't  speed  me,  I'll  e'en  content  me  with 
a  Fool. 

I  doe  think  Men,  for  the  most  Part,  be 
Cowards  in  theire  Hearts  .  .  .  moral  Cow- 
ards. Here  and  there  we  find  one  like 
FatJier,  and  like  Socrates,  and  like  ...  this 
and  that  one,  I  mind  not  theire  Names  just 
now ;  but  in  the  Main,  methinketh  they 
lack  the  moral  Courage  of  Women.  May- 
be, I'm  unjust  to  'em  just  now,  being  crost. 

yuly  10th. 
, . .  I  lay  down,  but  my  Heart  was  wak- 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  2 1 7 

tng.  Soon  after  the  first  Cock  crew,  I 
hearcle  a  Pebble  cast  agaynst  my  Lattice ; 
knew  the  Signall,  rose,  dressed,  stole  softke 
down,  and  let  myself  out.  I  knew  the 
Touch  of  the  poor  Fool's  Fingers ;  his 
Teeth  were  chattering,  'twixt  Cold  and 
Fear,  yet  he  laught  aneath  his  Breath  as 
he  caught  my  Arm  and  dragged  me  after 
him,  whispering,  "  Fool  and  fayr  Lady  will 
cheat  'em  yet."  At  the  Stairs  lay  a  Wherry 
with  a  Couple  of  Boatmen,  and  one  of  'em 
stepping  up  to  me  cries,  "Alas  for  ruth, 
Mistress  Meg,  what  is't  ye  do  ?  Art  mad  to 
go  on  this  Errand  ? "  I  sayd,  "  I  shall  be 
mad  if  I  goe  not,  and  succeed  too — put  me 
in,  and  push  off." 

We  went  down  the  River  quietlic  enow — • 
at  length  reach  London  Bridge  Stairs.  Pat- 
teson,  starting  up,  says,  "Bide  ye  all  as  ye 
are,"  and  springs  aland  and  runneth  up  to 
the  Bridge.  Anon  returns,  and  sayth, 
"  Now,  Mistress,  alle's  readie  .  .  .  readier 
than  ye  wist  .  .  .  come  up  quickly,  for  the 


2 1 8  The  Household 

Coast's  clear."  Hobson  (for  'twas  he)  hi-tpa 
me  forth,  saying,  "  God  speed  ye,  Mistress 
...  An'  I  dared,  I  woulde  goe  with  ye."  . . . 
Thought  I,  there  be  others  in  that  Case. 

Nor  lookt  I  up  till  aneath  the  Bridge- 
gate,  when,  casting  upward  a  fearsome 
Look,  I  beheld  the  dark  Outline  of  the 
ghastly,  yet  precious  Relic ;  and,  falling 
into  a  Tremour,  did  wring  my  hands  and 
exclaym,  "  Alas,  alas  !  that  Head  hath  lain 
full  manie  a  Time  in  my  Lap  !  woulde  God, 
woulde  God  it  lay  there  now  ! "  When,  'o 
suddain,  I  saw  the  Pole  tremble  and  sway 
towards  me ;  and  stretching  forth  my  Apron, 
I  did,  in  an  Extasy  of  Gladness,  Pity,  and 
Horror,  catch  its  Burthen  as  it  fell.  Pat- 
teson,  shuddering,  yet  grinning,  cries  under 
his  Breath,  "  Managed  I  not  well,  Mistress  ? 
Let's  speed  away  with  our  Theft,  for  Fools 
and  their  Treasures  are  soon  parted ;  but 
I  think  not  they'll  follow  hard  after  us,  nei- 
ther, for  there  are  Wellwishers  to  us  on 
the  Bridge.     I'll  put  ye  into  the  Boat,  and 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More.  219 

then  say,  God  speed  ye,  Lady,  with  your 
Burthen." 

July  23. 

Rispah,  Daughter  of  Aiah,  did  watch  her 
Dead  from  the  beginning  of  Harvest  until 
the  latter  Rain,  and  suffered  neither  the 
Birds  of  the  Ayr  to  light  on  them  by  Day, 
nor  the  wild  Beasts  of  the  Field  by  Night. 
And  it  was  told  the  King,  but  he  intermed- 
dled not  with  her. 

Argia  stole  Polynices'  Body  by  Night, 
and  buried  it,  for  the  which  she  with  her 
Life  did  willingly  pay  Forfeit.  Antigone, 
for  aiding  in  the  pious  Theft,  was  adjudged 
to  be  buried  alive,  Artemisia  did  make 
herself  her  loved  one's  Shrine,  by  drinking 
his  ashes.  Such  is  the  Love  of  Women  ; 
many  Waters  cannot  quench  it,  neither  can 
the  Floods  drown  it.  I've  heard  Bonvisi 
tell  of  a  poor  Italian  Girl,  whose  Brothers 
did  slay  her  Lover;  and  in  Spite  of  'em 
she  got  his  Heart,  and  Buried  it  in  a  Pot 
of  Basil,  which  she  watered  Day  and  Night 


220  The  Household 

with  her  Tears,  just  as   I  do  my  Coffer. 
Will  has  promised  it  shall  be  buried  with 
me  ;  layd  upon  my  Heart ;  and  since  then, 
I've  beene  easier. 

He  thinks  he  shall  write  Father  s  Life, 
when  he  gets  more  composed,  and  we  are 
settled  in  a  new  Home.  We  are  to  be 
cleared  out  o'  this  in  alle  Haste ;  the  King 
grutches  at  our  lingering  over  Fathers 
Footsteps,  and  gazing  on  the  dear  familiar 
Scenes  associate  with  his  Image  ;  and  yet, 
when  the  News  of  the  bloody  Deed  was 
taken  to  him,  as  he  sate  playing  at  Tables 
with  Queen  Anne,  he  started  up  and  scowl- 
ed at  her,  saying,  "  Thou  art  the  Cause  of 
this  Man's  Death  !  "  Father  might  well  say, 
during  our  last  precious  Meeting  in  the 
Tower,  "'Tis  I,  Meg,  not  the  King,  that 
love  Women.  They  belie  him  ;  he  onlie 
loves  himself."  Adding,  with  his  own  sweet 
Smile,  "  Your  Gaffer  used  to  say  that  Wo- 
men were  a  Bag  of  Snakes,  and  that  the 
Man  who  put  his  Hand  therein  woulde  be 


of  Sir  TJios.  More. 


221 


]uck_y  if  he  founde  one  Eel  among  them 
alle  ;  but  'twas  onlie  in  Sport,  Meg,  and  he 
owned  that  I  had  enough  Eels  to  my  Share 
to  make  a  goodly  Pie,  and  called  my  House 
the  Eel-pie  House  to  the  Day  of  his  Death. 
'Twas  our  Lord  Jem*s  raised  up  Women, 
and  shewed  Kmdnesse  unto  'em  ;  and 
they've  kept  theire  L  evel,  in  the  Main,  ever 


since." 


I  wish  Will  may  sett  down  everie  Thing 
of  Fathers  saying  he  can  remember  ;  how 
precious  will  his  Book  then  be  to  us  !  But 
I  fear  me,  these  Matters  adhere  not  to  a 
Man's  Memory  .  .  .  he'll  be  telling  of  his 
Doings  as  Speaker  and  Chancellor,  and  his 
saying  this  and  that  in  Parliament.  Those 
are  the  Matters  men  like  to  write  and  to 
read  ;  he  won't  write  it  after  my  Fashion. 

I  had  a  Misgiving  of  Will's  Wrath,  that 
Night,  'speciallie  if  I  failed  ;  but  he  called 
me  his  brave  Judith  Indeed  I  was  a  Wo- 
man bearing  a  Head  but  one  that  had  ofi 
lain  on  my  Shoulder. 


222  The  Household 

My  Thoughts  begin ne  to  have  Connex- 
ion now  ;  but  till  last  Night,  I  slept  not. 
'Twas  scarce  Sunsett.  Mercy  had  been 
praying  beside  me,  and  lay  outside  my  Bed, 
inclining  rather  to  Stupor  than  Sleep.  O' 
suddain,  I  have  an  Impression  that  some 
one  is  leaning  over  me,  though  I  hear  'em 
not,  nor  feel  theire  Breath.  I  start  up,  cry 
"  Mercy  !  "  but  she's  not  there,  nor  any  one 
else.  I  turn  on  my  Side  and  become 
heavie  to  Sleep ;  but  or  ere  I  drop  quite 
off,  agayn  I  am  sensible  or  apprehensive  of 
some  living  Consciousness  between  my 
closed  Eyelids  and  the  setting  Sunlight  ; 
agayn  start  up  and  stare  about,  but  there's 
Nothing.  Then  I  feel  .  .  .  like  Eli,  may- 
be, when  the  Child  Samuel  called  to  him 
twice ;  and  Tears  well  into  mine  Eyes,  and 
I  close  'em  again,  and  say  in  mine  Heart, 
"  If  he's  at  Hand,  oh,  let  me  see  him  next 
Time.  .  .  .  the  third  Time's  lucky."  But, 
'steade  of  this,  I  fall  into  quiet,  balmy, 
dreamlesse  Sleep.     Since  then  I've  had  an 


of  Sir  Thos.  More.  223 

abiding-,  assuring  Sense  of  Help,  of  a  Hand 
upholding  me,  and  smoothing  and  glibbing 
the  Way  before  me. 

We  must  yield  to  the  Powers  that  be. 
At  this  Present,  we  are  weak,  but  they  are 
strong ;  they  are  honourable,  and  we  are 
despised.  They  have  made  us  a  Spectacle 
unto  the  World,  and,  I  think,  Europe  will 
ring  with  it ;  but  at  this  present  Hour, 
they  will  have  us  forth  of  our  Home,  though 
we  have  as  yet  no  certayn  Dwelling-Place, 
and  must  flee  as  scared  Pigeons  from  their 
Dovecot.  No  Matter ;  our  Men  are  wil- 
ling to  labour,  and  our  Women  to  endure  : 
being  reviled,  we  bless  ;  being  persecuted, 
we  suffer  it.  Onlie  I  marvell  how  anie 
honest  Man,  coming  after  us,  will  be  able 
to  eat  a  Mouthful  of  Bread  with  a  Relish 
within  these  Walls.  And,  methinketh,  a 
dishonest  Man  will  have  sundrie  Frights 
from  the  Lares  and  Lemures.  There'll  be 
Dearth  o'  black  Beans  in  the  Market. 

Flow    on,   bright    shining    Thames.      A 


224  The  Household 

good,  brave  Man  hath  walked  aforetime  on 
your  Margent,  himself  as  bright,  and  use- 
full,  and  delightsome  as  be  you,  sweet  River. 
And  like  you,  he  never  murmured  ;  like 
you,  he  upbore  the  weary,  and  gave  Drink 
to  the  Thirsty,  and  reflected  Heaven  in  his 
Face.  I'll  not  swell  your  full  Current  with 
any  more  fruitless  Tears.  There's  a  River, 
whose  Streams  make  glad  the  City  of  our 
God  :  he  now  rests  beside  it.  Good  Chris- 
tian Folks,  as  they  hereafter  pass  this  Spot 
upborne  on  thy  gentle  Tide,  will,  maybe, 
point  this  Way,  and  say,  "  There  dwelt  Sir 
Thomas  More ;  "  but  whether  they  doe  or 
not,  Vox  Populi  is  a  very  inconsiderable 
Matter.  Who  would  live  on  theire  Breath  ? 
They  hailed  St.  Paul  as  Mercury,  and  then 
stoned  him,  and  cast  him  out  of  the  City, 
supposing  him  to  be  dead.  Theire  Favour- 
ite of  to-day  may,  for  what  they  care,  goe 
hang  himself  to-morrow  in  his  Surcingle. 
Thus  it  must  be  while  the  World  lasts  ; 
and  the  very  Racks  and  Scrues  wherewith 


of  Sir  T/ios.  More. 


225 


they  aim  to  overcome  the  nobler  Spiritt, 
onlie  test  and  reveal  its  Power  of  Exalta- 
tion above  the  heaviest  Gloom  of  Circum- 
stance. 

Intcrfccistis,  intcrfecistis  Homines  omn* 
um  Anglorum  optimum. 


15 


Those  of  our  Readers  who  have  lately  found  any 
Pleasure  in  contemplating  the  Household  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  and  in  reviving  their  Recollections 
of  his  Intimacy  with  Erasmus,  may  be  grateful  to 
us  for  the  following  scattered  Notices  of  those  cel- 
ebrated Men. 

Erasmus  was  born  at  Rotterdam,  in  1467.  At 
nine  Years  old,  he  was  sent  to  School  at  Deventcr, 
where  he  gave  Proofs  of  uncommon  Memory, 
though  he  represents  himself  as  accounted  a  dull 
Scholar.  He  was  left  an  Orphan  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  ;  and  his  Guardians  plundered  him  of  his 
Patrimony,  and  drove  him  into  a  Convent.  Young 
as  he  was,  he  refused  to  part  with  his  Liberty  for 
three  Years  ;  and  it  was  not  till  his  third  Removal 
from  one  Convent  to  another  that  his  Constancy 
gave  way,  and  he  reluctantly  entered  on  his  Year 
of  Probation. 

The  monastic  Life  suited  his  Health  as  little  as 
his  Taste,  and  in  his  twenty-third  Year  he,  with  the 
Permission  of  his  Superi^is,  accepted  an  Invitation 
to  reside  with  the  Archbishop  of  Cam&rav.  Thence 
he  went  to  Paris,  where  he  gave  private  Lectures. 
Among  his  Pupils  were  some  young  Englishmen, 
who  induced  him  to  visit  England  in  1497.  where 
he  met  with  a  Reception  that  endeared  the  Conn- 


228  Appendix. 

try  to  him,  and  made  him  thenceforth  fond  of  visit 
ing  it.  In  1498  he  applied  himself  closely  to  the 
Greek  Language,  and  said  that  as  soon  as  he  could 
get  any  Money  (which  was  a  Necessary  we  find  him 
continually  in  want  of),  he  would  first  buy  Greek 
Books  and  then  Clothes.  He  seems  to  have  been 
fearful,  at  first,  of  burning  his  Fingers  by  meddling 
with  Theology,  as  if  he  had  had  a  kind  of  Instinct 
that  his  Inquiries  would  lead  him  away  from  re- 
ceived Opinions.  In  15 13  we  find  his  Friend,  Dean 
Colet,  roundly  charging  him  with  being  too  queru- 
lous and  greedy  (probably  in  Answer  to  some  indi- 
rect Application  for  Assistance),  but  promising  to 
give  him  a  small  Matter,  if  he  would  ask  for  it  with- 
out false  Modesty.  Erasmus  replied,  that,  in  the 
Opinion  of  Seneca,  Favours  were  dearly  purchased 
which  were  extorted  by  begging.  "  Socrates"  says 
he,  "  talking  once  with  some  Friends,  said,  '  I 
would  have  bought  me  a  Coat  to-day,  had  I  had  the 
Money.'  '  They,'  observes  Seneca,  '  who  then  gave 
him  what  he  wanted,  showed  their  Liberality  too 
late.'  Another,  seeing  a  Friend  who  was  poor  and 
sick,  and  too  modest  to  make  his  Wants  known, 
put  some  Money  under  his  Pillow  while  he  was 
asleep.  When  I  used  to  read  this  in  my  Youth," 
pursues  Erasmus,  "  I  was  extremely  struck  with 
the  Modesty  of  the  one  and  the  Generosity  of  the 
other.  But  since  you  talk  of  begging  without 
Shame,  pray  who  can  be  more  shameless  than  my- 
self, who  live  in  England  on  the  Footing  of  a  pub- 
lic Beggar  ?     I  have  received  so  much  from  th« 


Appendix.  229 

Archbishop,  that  it  would  be  scandalous  to  take  any 
more  of  him,  were  he  even  to  offer  it.  I  asked  N. 
with  sufficient  Assurance,  and  he  refused  me  even 
more  roundly.  Even  our  good  Friend.  Linacre, 
thinks  me  too  bold  ;  and,  though  he  knew  my  poor 
State  of  Health,  and  that  I  was  leaving  London 
with  hardly  six  Angels  in  my  Pocket,  yet  he  urged 
me  most  pressingly  to  spare  the  Archbishop  and 
Lord  Montjqy,  and  advised  me  to  retrench  and 
learn  to  bear  Poverty  with  Patience.  A  most 
friendly  Counsel,  forsooth  !  While  I  had  Health 
and  Strength  I  used  to  dissemble  my  Poverty,  but 
now  I  cannot,  unless  I  would  risk  my  Life." 

In  his  fortieth  Year  he  visited  Italy j  then  revis- 
ited England,  where  his  Acquaintance  commenced 
with  Sir  Thomas  More,  for  whose  Amusement  and 
his  own  he  wrote  his  "Morice  Encomium,  or  Praise 
of  Eolly."  At  the  Request  of  the  Chancellor  of 
Cambridge,  he  went  to  that  University  and  read 
Lectures  in  Greek  and  Divinity.  He  returned  to 
the  Low  Countries  in  15 14.  and  was  created  nomi- 
nally Counsellor  to  the  Archduke  Charles,  with  a 
Stipend.  The  Prior  of  Erasmus's  Convent  at  Stein 
now  endeavoured  to  recall  him  ;  but  he  strongly 
resisted,  defending  his  Mode  of  Life,  which  was 
indeed  that  of  a  Scholar  rather  than  of  a  Monk. 
"  I  have  lived,"  says  he,  "among  sober  People,  at- 
iached  to  my  Studies,  which  have  preserved  me 
from  many  Vices.  I  have  conversed  with  Persons 
who  had  a  true  Love  of  Christianity,  and  from 
whose  Conversation  I  have  derived   great  Benefit 


230  Appendix. 

\  will  not  beast  of  my  Writings  ;  but  many  have 
told  me  that  they  have  been  made  by  them  not  only 
more  learned,  but  more  virtuous.  I  never  loved 
Money,  nor  was  ambitious  of  Glory  or  Reputation 
Every  time  I  have  thought  of  returning  to  yon.  I 
have  been  dissuaded  by  the  Consideration  that 
some  of  you  would  envy  and  others  hate  me.  I 
have  recalled  the  insipid  and  frivolous  Conversa- 
tions I  used  to  hear,  without  the  least  Savour  of 
Christianity  in  them  ;  your  altogether  secular  Re- 
pasts, and  your  whole  Life  taken  up  in  the  Obser- 
vance of  Ceremonies.  I  have  considered  the  Infir- 
mities of  my  own  Body — long  a  Prey  to  harrassing 
and  dangerous  Disease — and  have  felt  that  either 
I  could  not  give  y">u  Satisfaction  or  that  I  must  de- 
stroy myself  in  doing  so.  But  perhaps  you  will 
say  that  it  would  be  a  sufficient  Happiness  to  die 
in  a  Fraternity.  Alas  !  you  are  mistaken,  and  al- 
most all  the  World  along  with  you.  We  make 
Christianity  to  consist  in  a  Dress,  in  eating,  and  in 
little  Observances.  We  look  upon  a  Man  as  lost 
who  quits  his  white  Garment  for  a  black  one,  who 
wears  a  Hat  instead  of  a  Hood,  and  who  often 
changes  his  Habitation.  May  I  not  venture  to 
affirm  that  the  greatest  Mischief  that  has  been  done 
to  the  Christian  Religion  arises  from  these  Religious 
Orders,  though  perhaps  a  pious  Zeal  at  first  intro- 
duced them  ?  Would  it  not  be  better,  according  to 
the  Doctrines  of  our  Saviour,  to  look  upon  Chris- 
tendom as  one  House,  one  Family,  one  Monastery, 
md  all  Christians  as  one  Brotherhood  ?     Would  it 


Appendix.  231 

Dot  be  better  to  account  the  Sacran.ent  of  Baptisrr 
the  most  sacred  of  all  Vows  and  Engagements,  and 
never  to  trouble  ourselves  where  we  live,  so  we 
live  well  ?  " 

Such  a  Letter  must  have  been  highly  jnpalata- 
ble  to  his  Superior ;  but  Erasmus  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  Anger.  About  this  time  he  visited 
Basle,  and  became  acquainted  with  Frobeniits  the 
Printer;  and  here  in  1516,  he  published  his  cele- 
brated Greek  and  Lathi  New  Testament,  which 
was  bought  and  read  with  avidity.  Though  he 
shrank  from  joining  the  Reformers,  it  was  a  com- 
mon Saying  among  the  Monks  that  "  Erasmuslzid 
the  Egg  and  Luther  hatched  it."  Certainly,  no 
Man  did  more  to  discredit  the  Frauds  and  Super- 
stitions of  his  Church.  "  I  am  surprised,"  he  says 
to  Wareham,  in  15 16,  "at  the  perverse  Judgment 
of  the  Multitude.  We  kiss  the  old  Shoes  and  dirty 
Handkerchiefs  of  the  Saints,  and  neglect  their 
Books,  which  are  the  more  valuable  and  holy  Rel- 
ics." Yet  to  IVolsey,  two  Years  later,  he  endeav- 
ours to  clear  himself  of  any  Connection  with  the 
Reformers.  "These  Wretches,"  says  he,  "ascribe 
to  Erasmas  everything  that  is  bad  ;  and  confound 
the  Cause  of  Literature  with  that  of  Luther,  though 
they  in  reality  have  no  Connection.  As  to  Luther, 
he  is  altogether  unknown  to  me  ;  and  if  he  hath 
written  anything  amiss,  surely  I  ought  not  to  bear 
the  Blame  of  it.  His  Life  and  Conversation  are 
universally  commended  ;  and  it  is  no  small  Pre- 
sumption in  his   Favour,  that  Calumny  itself  can 


232  Appendix. 

fasten  no  Reproach  on  his  Morals.  If  I  had 
really  had  Leisure  to  peruse  his  Writings,  I  am  not 
so  conceited  of  my  own  Abilities  as  to  pass  a  Judg- 
ment on  the  Opinions  of  so  considerable  a  Divine  ; 
though  even  Children,  in  this  knowing  Age,  under 
take  boldly  to  pronounce  this  is  erroneous  and  that 
heretical  !  " 

"There  are  none,"  says  he,  "that  bark  at  me 
more  furiously  than  those  who  have  never  even 
seen  the  Outside  of  my  Book.  When  you  meet 
with  one  of  these  Brawlers,  let  him  rave  on  at  my 
New  Testament  till  he  has  made  himself  hoarse. 
Then  ask  him  gently  whether  he  has  read  it.  If 
he  has  the  Impudence  to  say  yes,  urge  him  to  pro- 
duce one  Passage  that  deserves  to  be  blamed.  You 
will  find  that  he  cannot.  Consider,  now,  whether 
this  be  the  Behaviour  of  a  Christian,  to  blacken  a 
Man's  Reputation,  which  he  cannot  restore  to  him 
again  if  he  would.  Of  all  the  vile  Ways  of  defam- 
ing him,  none  is  more  villainous  than  to  accuse  him 
of  Heresy ;  and  yet  to  this  they  have  recourse  on 
the  slightest  Provocation  !  " 

A  Dominican  Friar  at  Strasbourg,  who  had 
spitefully  attacked  Erasmus's  Treatment,  was  com- 
pelled to  own  that  he  had  not  read  one  Word  of  it. 
"These  Men,"  exclaims  Erasmus,  "first  hate,  next 
condemn,  and  lastly,  seek  for  Passages  to  justify 
their  Censures.  And  then,  if  any  one  opposes 
them,  and  calls  them  what  they  are,  they  say  he  is 
a  Disturber  of  the  public  Peace  ;  which  is  just  as 
if  you  gave  a  Man  a  Blow  in  the   Face,  and  then 


Appendix.  233 

bid  him  be  quiet,  and  not  make   a    Noise   about 
Nothing." 

Speaking  of  converting  the  Turks,  in  case  they 
were  conquered,  "  What  will  they  think,"  says 
Erasmus,  "when  they  find  our  quibbling  Profess- 
ors so  little  of  a  Mind,  that  they  dispute  together 
till  they  turn  pale  with  Fury,  call  Names,  spit  in 
one  another's  Faces  and  even  come  to  Blows  ? 
What  must  they  think  when  they  find  it  so  very 
difficult  a  Thing  to  know  what  Expressions  may  be 
used  when  you  speak  of  Jesus  Christ?  as  if  you 
had  to  do  with  a  morose  and  malicious  Being  whom 
you  call  forth  to  your  own  Destruction,  if  you  use 
a  wrong  Word  in  the  Form  of  Evocation,  instead 
of  a  most  merciful  Saviour,  who  requires  nothing 
of  you  but  Purity  of  Heart  and  Manners." 

"Let  no  Man."  he  soon  afterwards  says,  "be 
ashamed  to  reply  to  certain  Points,  '  God  knoweth 
how  it  can  be  !  as  for  me,  I  am  content  that  it  is 
so ;  I  know  that  the  Body  and  Blood  of  our  Sa- 
viour are  Things  pure,  to  be  received  by  the  Pure, 
and  in  a  pure  Manner.  He  hath  appointed  this  for 
a  sacred  Sign  and  Pledge  of  his  Love  for  us,  and 
of  the  Concord  which  ought  to  exist  among  Chris* 
tians.  I  will  therefore  examine  myself,  to  see  if 
there  be  Anything  in  me  contrary  to  the  Mind  of 
Jes7(s  Christ,  and  whether  I  be  in  Love  and  Char- 
ity with  my  Neighbour.  But,  to  be  curious  how 
the  ten  Categories  are  in  this  Sacrament ;  how  the 
Bread  can  be  transubstantiated  by  Consecration  ; 
and  how  a  human  Body  can  be  in  different  Place* 


234  Appendix. 

at  the  same  Time, — all  this,  in  my  Opinion,  serves 
very  little  to  Advancement  in  Piety.'  " 

Elsewhere  he  says  of  the  Eucharist,  "  I  know  not 
what  Good  an  invisible  Substance  can  do  there,  nor 
how  it  could  profit  any  one  if  it  were  discernible 
If  there  be  a  spiritual  Grace  present  to  the  Symbol, 
that  seems  to  be  sufficient.  However,  I  cannot  de- 
part from  the  general  Consent  of  the  Church." 

In  other  Words,  he  had  no  Mind  to  be  a  Martyr, 
but  only  to  suggest  Doubts  which  led  braver  Men 
to  be  such.  "  This  worthy  Man,"  says  his  Biogra- 
pher yortin,  "  spent  a  laborious  Life  in  an  uniform 
Pursuit  of  two  Points  :  in  opposing  barbarous  Igno- 
rance and  blind  Superstition,  and  in  promoting  use- 
ful Literature  and  true  Piety.  These  Objects  he  at- 
tempted in  a  mild,  gentle  Manner,  never  attacking 
the  Persons  of  Men,  but  only  the  Faults  of  the 
Age.  He  knew  his  own  Temper  and  Talents,  and 
was  conscious  he  was  not  fitted  for  the  rough  Work 
of  a  Reformer." 

His  Income  arose  almost  entirely  from  Pensions 
and  Gratuities  from  Princes  and  wealthy  Prelates, 
all  of  the  Romish  Church,  who  would  undoubtedly 
have  withdrawn  their  Patronage  had  he  made  com- 
mon Cause  with  the  Lutherans.  His  Cause  was 
rather  that  of  free  and  critical  Inquiry,  in  Opposi- 
tion to  Ignorance  and  Prejudice  ;  and  when  he 
found  it  leading  him  farther  than  he  had  foreseen, 
he  stopped  short,  and  began  to  defend  the  Church 
he  had  done  so  much  to  shake.  Luther  expressed 
Pity  rather  than  Contempt  for  this  Weakness  3  but 


Appendix.  235 

the  Heat  of  Controversy  gradually  placed  these  two 
eminent  Men  in  more  open  Antagonism,  and  drew 
from  each  of  them  acrimonious  Expressions  which 
did  their  Cause  no  good. 

In  1522  appeared  the  "Colloquies"  of  Erasmus, 
which,  in  the  easy  and  popular  Form  of  Dialogue, 
attacked  the  Superstitions  of  the  Day  with  a  Mix- 
ture of  Sense  and  Wit  that  made  them  very  gener- 
ally acceptable.  Their  tendency  was  soon  detected 
by  the  Church  ;  and  the  Faculty  of  Theology  at 
Paris  pronounced  a  Censure  on  them  as  on  a  Work 
"  in  which  the  Fasts  of  the  Church  are  slighted, 
the  Suffrages  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the  Saints 
derided,  Celibacy  rated  below  Matrimony,  Chris- 
tians discouraged  from  Monkery,  and  grammatical 
preferred  to  theological  Erudition.  Wherefore  it  is 
decreed  that  this  wicked  Book  be  forbidden  to  all, 
more  especially  to  young  Folks."  He  was  next 
engaged  in  his  Controversy  with  Luther,  which  did 
not  redound  much  to  his  Credit.  In  consequence 
of  the  public  Change  of  Religion  at  Balse,  he  re- 
moved to  Friburg,  where  he  published  an  Epistle 
against  the  Reformers,  in  which  he  asserts  that 
there  were  certain  Cases  in  which  they  might  law- 
fully receive  capital  Punishment  as  Blasphemers 
and  seditious  Persons.  He  afterwards  returned  to 
Basle,  which  he  left  no  more  ;  and  after  prosecuting 
his  learned  Labours  for  a  Time,  under  the  Pressure 
of  severe  bodily  Afflictions,  he  expired  in  his  sixty- 
ninth  Year,  surrounded  by  Protestant  Friends,  and 
dying  such  as  a  Protestant  might,  in  Everything  bul 


236  Appendix. 

in  Name.  He  was  the  most  eminent,  though  not 
the  sole  Reviver  of  Learning  in  his  Day,  and  is 
justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  great  Benefactors  of 
his  Age.  His  Memory  is  equally  cherished  at  the 
Place  of  his  Birth  and  of  his  Death  ;  and  the  Bronze 
Statue  erected  to  his  Memory  in  the  great  Square 
of  Rotterdam,  representing  him  in  the  Aft  of  scru- 
tinizing a  Manuscript  with  delighted  avidity,  is  ad- 
mirably characteristic  of  the  Man. 


When  we  say  that  some  of  our  happiest  and  ear- 
liest Years  were  spent  on  the  Site  of  Sir  Thomas 
Move's  Country  House  in  the  "  Village  of  Palaces," 
some  of  our  Readers  will  hardly  believe  we  can 
mean  Chelsea.  But  in  those  Days,  the  Gin-Palace 
and  Tea-Garden  were  not ;  Cremorne  was  a  quiet, 
aristocratic  Seclusion,  where  old  Queen  Charlotte 

"  Would  sometimes  Co/insel  lake,  and  sometimes  Tea." 

— A  few  old,  quiet  Streets  and  Rows,  with  Names 
and  Sites  dear  to  the  Antiquary,  ran  down  to  the 
Thames,  then  a  Stranger  to  Steamboats  ;  a  Row 
of  noble  Elms  along  its  Strand  lent  their  deep  Shade 
to  some  quaint  old  Houses  with  heavy  Architraves, 
picturesque  Flights  of  Steps  and  elaborate  Gates  ; 
while  Queen  Elizabeth's  Walk,  and  the  Bishop's 
Palace,  gave  a  Kind  of  Dignity  to  the  more  modem 
Designations  of  the  Neighbourhood. 

When  the  Thames  was  the  great  Highway,  and 


Appendix.  237 

every  Nobleman  had  his  six  or  eight-oared  Barge, 
the  Banks  of  the  River  as  high  as  Chelsea  were 
studded  with  Country  Houses.  At  the  foot  of  Bat- 
tersea  Bridge,  which  in  those  Days  did  not  disfigure 
the  beautiful  Reach.  Sir  Thomas  More,  then  a  pri- 
vate Gentleman  and  eminent  Lawyer  in  full  Practice, 
built  the  capital  Family  House  which  was  afterwards 
successively  occupied  by  the  Marquis  of  Winches- 
ter, Lord  Dacre,  Lord  Burleigh,  Sir  Robert  Cecil, 
the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  Sir  Arthur  Gorges,  Lord  Mid- 
dlesex, the  First  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Sir  Bul- 
strode  Whitlock,  the  Second  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
the  Earl  of  Bristol,  and  the  Duke  of  Beaufort.  It 
stood  about  a  hundred  Yards  from  the  River  ;  its 
Front  exhibited  a  projecting  Porch  in  the  Centre, 
and  four  bay  Windows  alternating  with  eight  large 
Casements  ;  while  its  back  presented  a  confused 
Assemblage  of  jutting  Casements,  Pent-Houses, 
and  Gables  in  picturesque  Intricacy  of  Detail, 
affording  "Coigns  of  Vantage,"  we  doubt  not,  to 
many  a  Tuft  of  Golden  Moss  and  Stone  Crop. 
This  Dwelling,  which  for  Convenience  and  Beauty 
of  Situation  and  interior  Comfort,  was  so  highly 
prized  by  its  many  and  distinguished  Occupants, 
appears  at  length  to  have  been  pulled  clown  when 
it  became  ricketty  and  untenantable  from  sheer  old 
Aye- — mi  OssiarCs  words,  "gloomy,  windy,  and  full 
of  Ghosts."  In  the  Freshr  ess  of  its  recent  Erec- 
tion and  Occupancy  by  a  buoyant,  untamed,  gay- 
spirited  Family,  Erasmus  thus  writes  of  it : — 
'■'•More  has   built   himself  a    House  at  Chelsea 


238  Appendix. 

There  he  converses  with  his  Wife,  his  Son,  1  is 
Daughter-in-law,  his  three  Daughters  and  their 
Husbands,  with  eleven  Grand-children.  There  is 
not  a  man  living  so  affectionate  as  he  ;  he  loveth  his 
old  Wife  as  if  she  were  a  young  Maid."  "  1  would 
call  his  House,"  he  continues,  "the  Academy  of 
Plato,  were  it  not  an  Injustice  to  compare  it  with 
an  Academy  where  Disputations  concerning  Num- 
bers and  Figures  were  only  occasionally  interspers- 
ed with  Disquisitions  on  the  moral  Virtues.  I  should 
rather  call  his  House  a  School  of  Christianity  ;  for 
though  there  is  no  one  in  it  who  does  not  study  the 
liberal  Sciences,  their  special  Care  is  Piety  and 
Virtue.  No  Quarrelling  nor  intemperate  Words 
are  heard  ;  Idleness  is  never  seen." 

We  must  give  one  more  Life-sketch  of  this  engagf- 
ing  Household  ;  more  attractive  than  that  painted 
by  Holbien : — 

"  He  suffered  none  of  his  Servants  to  give  them- 
selves to  Cards  or  Dice  ;  but  some  of  them  he 
alotted  to  look  after  the  Garden,  assigning  to  every 
one  his  sundry  Plot ;  some,  again,  he  set  to  sing, 
some  to  play  on  the  Organ.  The  Men  abode  on 
one  side  of  the  House  ;  the  Women  on  the  other. 
He  used,  before  Bed-time,  to  call  them  together, 
and  say  certain  Prayers  with  them.  He  suffered 
none  to  be  absent  from  Mass  on  Sundays  or  holy 
Days  ;  and  upon  great  Feasts  he  ordered  them  to 
watch  the  Eves  till  Matin-time.  He  used  to  have 
some  one  to  read  daily  at  his  Table,  which  being 
ended,  he  would  ask  of  some  of  them  how  they 


Appendix.  239 

had  understood  such  and  such  a  Passage  ;  and  so 
then  grant  a  iriendly  Communication,  recreating 
all  men  that  \\<:re  present  with  some  Jest  or  other." 

More  wu.<  born  in  Milk  Street,  1480.  His  Fa- 
ther, Sir  'f.ihn  More,  one  of  the  Judges  of  the 
Court  of  Kiihfi  Bench,  on  removing  him  from  a 
free  Grammai  School  in  Tlireudneedle  Street,  placed 
him  in  the  Household  of  Cardinal  Morton,  Arch- 
bishop of  Ca?iitroury  and  Lord  Chancellor.  Here 
his  early  Promi^o  of  Excellence  soon  fixed  on  him 
the  Attention  ot  his  Patron,  who,  on  Occasion  of 
one  of  his  many  ready  and  felicitous  Replies,  ob- 
served to  one  of  tiit  Bystanders,  "  This  Child  will 
unquestionably  pros  c  an  extraordinary  Man."  The 
Cardinal  would  often  imuse  himself  by  putting  his 
Wit  to  Proof,  especially  during  the  Christmas  Mer- 
riments ;  when,  the  Actors  performing  their  several 
Parts,  young  More  wou'.u  suddenly  step  in  among 
them,  and,  never  studying  before  upon  the  Matter, 
make  up  an  extempore  P<j.rt  for  himself,  so  full  of 
Drollery  and  Fun,  thai  In,  made  more  Sport  for  the 
Company  than  all  the  Players  besides. 

At  the  Cardinal's  Instance,  young  More  was 
early  sent  to  Oxford,  whore,  from  sixteen  to  eigh- 
teen, he  studied  hard  with  scarcely  any  Intermis- 
sion ;  his  Father  limiting  him  to  an  Allowance,  the 
Scantiness  of  which  he  was  himself  in  After-times 
one  of  the  most  forward  to  praise.  His  Inclination 
was  for  the  Church,  but  his  Destination  was  the 
Law  ;  and,  at  the  End  of  his  two  Years  at  Christ' 
church  he  was  removed,  first  to  A'ew  Inn  and  then 


240  Appendix. 

to  Lincoln's  Inn.  His  private  Discipline  was  now 
of  the  strictest  Kind.  Interpreting  the  Text,  "  He 
that  hateth  his  Life,"  etc.,  somewhat  too  closely,  he 
acted  up  to  his  Interpretation  of  it  with  an  Hon- 
esty and  Courage  which  it  is  impossible  not  to 
admire,  living  hard,  lying  hard,  and  never  allowing 
himself  more  than  four  or  five  Hours'  Sleep  out  of 
the  twenty-four,  with  the  Ground  for  his  Bed  and  a 
Log  for  his  Pillow.  Dean  Colet,  the  Founder  of 
St.  Paul's  School,  which  he  dedicated  "to  the  Child 
Jesus"  was  the  Confessor  of  More,  who  diligently 
attended  his  Sermons  on  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the 
Apostle's  Creed,  and  the  Ten  Commandments. 
The  following  Letter  of  the  young  Student  to  his 
venerable  Pastor  is  delightful,  both  for  its  affection- 
ate, pious  turn  of  Thought,  and  unaffected  Ease  of 
Expression : — 

"As  I  was  walking  lately  before  Westminster 
Hall,  busying  myself  about  other  Men's  Causes,  I 
lighted  on  your  Servant,  at  whose  first  Salutation 
1  was  marvellously  pleased,  both  because  he  is 
always  acceptable  to  me  in  himself,  and  because  I 
thought  he  could  not  have  come  to  London  without 
you.  But  when  1  learnt  of  him  that  you  were  not 
come,  nor  likely  to  come  for  a  long  while,  my  great 
Pleasure  was  turned  into  as  great  Disappointment. 
For  what  can  be  more  grievous  to  me  than  to  be 
deprived  of  your  most  sweet  Conversation  ?  whose 
wholesome  Counsel  I  was  wont  to  enjoy,  with  whose 
delightsome  Familiarity  I  was  recreated,  by  whose 
weighty  Sermons  I  have  often  been  stirred  up  to 


Appendix.  24! 

Devotion,  by  whose  Example  I  have  been  mud 
amended,  and  in  whose  very  Countenance  I  waa 
wont  to  rest  contented  !  Wherefore,  as  I  havt 
found  myself  greatly  strengthened,  so  long  as  I  en 
joyed  those  Helps,  so  now  do  I  find  myself  much 
weakened  and  depressed,  being  deprived  of  them 
so  long.  For  what,  I  pray  you,  is  there  here  in 
this  City  to  incline  any  Man  to  live  well,  and  that 
doth  not  rather,  by  a  thousand  Devices,  draw  him 
back,  and  tempt  him  to  all  Sorts  of  Wickedness  ? 
What  findeth  he  here  but  feigned  Love,  and  the 
Honey-poison  of  venomous  Flattery?  In  one 
place,  cruel  Hatred,  in  another,  nothing  but  Liti- 
gations and  Suits.  Whithersoever  we  cast  our 
Eyes,  what  see  we  but  Victualling-houses.  Fish- 
mongers, Butchers,  Cooks,  Pudding-makers,  and 
Poulterers,  who  administer  to  our  Appetites,  and 
do  good  Service  to  the  World  and  the  Prince  there- 
of? Why,  even  the  Houses  themselves  bereave 
us,  in  great  measure,  of  the  Sight  of  Heaven  ;  so 
as  that  the  Height  of  our  Buildings,  and  not  the 
Circle  of  our  Horizon,  limits  our  Prospect.  For 
which  Cause,  I  forgive  you,  the  rather  that  you  de- 
light to  remain  where  you  are,  in  the  Country. 
For  there  you  find  a  Company  of  plain  Souls,  void 
of  all  Craft,  wherewith  our  Citizens  do  so  abound ; 
wherever  you  look  you  behold  a  pleasant  Prospect, 
the  Temperature  of  the  Air  refresheth  you,  the 
clear  beholding  of  the  Heavens  delighteth  you, 
and  you  find  nothing  there  but  bounteous  G'fts  of 
Nature  and  Saintly  Tokens  of  Innocence.     Yet  T 

16 


J?42  Appendix. 

would  not  have  you  so  carried  away  with  these 
Contentments  that  you  should  be  stayed  from  has- 
tening hither.  For  if  the  Discommodities  of  the 
City  displease  you,  as  they  very  well  may,  yet  the 
Country  about  your  Parish  of  Stepney,  whereof  you 
ought  to  have  some  Care,  may  afford  you  the  like 
Delights  to  those  which  now  you  enjoy.  Return, 
therefore,  my  dear  Colet,  either  for  Stepney's  Sake, 
which  mourneth  for  your  Absence  as  Children  for 
their  Mothers,  or  else  for  London's  sake,  in  respect 
it  is  your  native  Place,  whereof  you  can  have  no 
less  Regard  than  of  your  own  Parents  ;  and  last, 
though  least,  return  for  my  Sake,  who  have  wholly 
dedicated  myself  to  your  Directions." 

The  Lectures  of  "  the  Boy-sage,"  as  he  was  call- 
ed, were  even  honoured  by  the  Attendance  of  his 
Oxford 'Master,  the  learned  Grocyn;  and  his  Rep- 
utation acquired  him  the  Office  of  Law-reader  at 
Fin-nival' s  Inn.  With  every  Prospect  of  a  rapid 
Rise  in  his  Profession,  there  was  nothing  impru- 
dent in  his  early  Marriage  with  Joan  Colt,  the  eld- 
est Daughter  of  Mr.  Colt,  of  New  Hall,  in  Essex 
He  established  her  near  his  own  Family  in  Bvck- 
lersbury;  and  his  being  thus  early  "clogged,"  as 
his  Grandson  says,  with  Wife  and  Children,  only 
proved  a  healthful  Stimulus  to  increased  Exertion. 
Before  the  age  of  twenty-three,  he  was  Member  of 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  incurred  Henry  the 
Seventh's  Resentment  by  opposing  his  Demand  for 
an  enoimous  Dowry  for  his  Daughter,  the  Princess 
Margaret.     The    King   revenged   himself  on   the 


Appendix.  243 

Son  by  throwing  the  Father  into  Prison,  and  keep- 
ing him  there  till  he  paid  a  heavy  Fine  for  a  pre- 
tended Offence.  More  found  it  necessary  to  retire 
from  Practice,  to  keep  out  of  the  incensed  Mon- 
arch's Sight ;  and  this  Pause  in  his  active  Career 
was  to  him  a  Season  of  Enjoyment  and  Self-im- 
provement. In  the  sixth  Year  of  his  married  Life 
his  Wife  died,  leaving  him  one  Son  and  three 
Daughters,  Margaret,  Elizabeth,  and  Cecily.  With- 
in two  or  three  Years  he  married  Mrs.  Alice  Mid' 
dleton,  a  Widow,  who  had  one  Daughter,  named 
Margaret ;  and  he  farther  increased  his  Family 
Circle  by  the  addition  of  Margaret  Giggs,  a  gentle, 
sweet-tempered,  Orphan  Girl,  whom  he  said  he 
loved  as  if  she  were  one  of  his  own  Daughters  ; 
and  who  herself  said  in  after  Times,  that  "  she  had 
been  fain  sometimes  to  commit  a  trifling  Fault  for 
the  Nonce,  for  the  Sake  of  hearing  Sir  Thomas 
More  chide  her,  with  such  Sweetness,  Gentleness, 
ind  Moderation."  Here,  then,  we  have  the  Fami- 
ly Party,  first  at  Crosby  House,  and  then  at  Chelsea, 
where  More  commenced  building  his  House  soon 
after  his  Return  to  Practice.  Six  Years  of  Retire- 
ment had  done  him  no  Harm  ;  he  rose  rapid'  v  in 
his  Profession,  found  himself  in  the  receipt  of  a 
large  Income,  in  spite  of  a  Disinterestedness  which 
prevented  his  accepting  a  Retaining  Fee  in  any 
Cause  the  Justice  of  which  he  was  not  fully  con- 
vinced of;  and,  amid  all  his  busy  moments,  he 
found  Time  to  continue  the  literary  Works,  and 
Tiaintain  the  Correspondence  with  eminent  For- 


244  Appendix. 

signers,  which  he  had  probably  commenced  during 
his  Seclusion.  His  chief  Correspondent  was  Eras- 
>/n/s,  who,  in  those  Days,  when  Penny-posts  were 
not,  retained  a  number  of  young  Men  to  carry  his 
Letters  and  receive  their  Answers,  which  were 
often  in  the  Shape  of  Money.  At  length  these  two 
celebrated  Men  met  by  chance,  each  without  know- 
ing the  other.  More  was  calling  on  the  Lord 
Mayor;  Erasmus  happened  to  have  been  shown 
the  Mansion  House  Cellars,  where  he  had  been 
regaled  with  Ale  and  Oysters.  On  being  intro- 
duced, merely  as  a  Foreigner,  to  More,  the  follow 
ing  Colloquy  ensued.  "  Whence  come  you  ? 
"  From  the  Regions  below."  "  What  were  they 
about  there?"  "Drinking  out  of  leather  Jacks. 
and  eating  live  Oysters."  More,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  exclaimed,  "Either  you  must  be  Erasmus 
or  the  Devil."  "  Either  you,"  returned  Erasmus 
"  must  be  More  or  nothing." 

More  frankly  made  him  free  of  his  House,  whics 
Erasmus  called  "  neither  magnificent  nor  provoca- 
tive of  Envy,  but  handsome  and  commodious 
enough."  The  gay,  approachable  Manners  of  the 
young  People,  and  their  innocent  Salutations  when 
they  met  and  parted,  amused  and  pleased  him. 
Here  he  accorded  some  of  his  Notice  to  their  Tu- 
tor, Mr.  Gunnel,  who  afterwards  rose  in  the  Church. 
To  this  excellent  Man  Sir  Thomas  More  writes 
thus  : — "  I  have  received,  my  dear  Gunnel,  yout 
Letters,  such  as  they  are  wont  to  be,  full  of  Ele- 
gance and  Affection.     Your  Love  for  my  Children 


Appendix.  245 

I  gather  from  your  Letters  ;  their  Diligence  from 
their  own.  I  rejoice  that  Bessy  has  shown  as  much 
Modesty  of  Deportment  in  her  Mother's  Absence 
as  she  could  have  done  in  her  Presence.  Tell  hei 
that  this  delights  me  above  all  Things  ;  for,  much 
as  I  esteem  Learning,  which,  when  joined  with  Vir- 
tue, is  worth  all  the  Treasures  of  Kings  ;  what 
doth  the  Fame  of  great  Scholarship,  apart  from 
well  regulated  Conduct,  bring  us,  except  distin- 
guished Infamy?  Especially  in  Women,  whom 
Men  are  ready  enough  to  assail  for  their  Know- 
ledge, because  it  is  uncommon,  and  casts  a  Re- 
proach on  their  own  Sluggishness.  Among  other 
notable  Benefits  which  solid  Learning  bestows,  I 
reckon  this  among  the  first,  that  we  acquire  it  not 
for  the  mere  sake  of  Praise  or  the  Esteem  of  learn- 
ed Men,  but  for  its  own  true  Value  and  Use.  Thus 
have  I  spoken,  my  Gunnel,  somewhat  the  more  in 
respecl:  of  not  coveting  Vain-glory,  because  of  those 
Words  in  your  Letter  wherein  you  deem  that  the 
high  Quality  of  Margaret's  Wit  is  not  to  be 
depressed,  which,  indeed,  is  mine  own  Opinion  ; 
but  I  think  that  they  the  most  truly  depress  and 
affront  their  Wit  who  accustom  themselves  to  prac- 
tise it  on  vain  and  base  ObjecLs,  rather  than  raise 
their  Minds  by  the  Study  and  Approval  of  what  is 
good  in  itself.  It  mattereth  not  in  Harvest  Time 
whether  the  Corn  were  sown  by  a  Man  or  a  Wo- 
man, and  I  see  not  why  Learning  in  like  Manner 
may  not  equally  agree  with  both  Sexes  ;  for  by  it 
Reason  is  cultivated,  and  as  a  Field,  sown  witb 


246  Appendix. 

vholesome  Precepts,  which  bring  forth  good  Fruit 
•Sven  if  the  Soil  of  a  Woman's  Brain  be  of  its  own 
Mature  bad,  and  apter  to  bear  Fern  than  Corn,  by 
vhich  saying  Men  oft  terrify  Wcmen  from  Learning, 
I  am  of  opinion  that  a  Woman's  Mind  is,  for  thai 
very  Reason,  all  the  more  in  need  of  manure  and 
good  Husbandry,  that  the  Defect  of  Nature  may  be 
«-edressed." 

In  the  same  Vein  writes  this  enlightened,  affec- 
tionate Father  to  "  his  most  dear  Daughters,  Mar- 
garet, Elizabeth,  and  Cecily,  and  to  Margaret  Giggs, 
as  dear  to  him  as  if  she  were  his  own."  To  his 
beloved  Margaret  at  a  very  early  Age  he  thus  ex- 
presses himself : — "  I  cannot  tell  you,  most  dear 
Margaret,  how  grateful  to  me  are  your  most  delight- 
ful Letters.  While  I  was  reading  them  there  hap- 
pened to  be  with  me  that  noble  Youth,  Reginald 
Pole  j  not  so  ennobled,  indeed,  by  Birth,  as  he  is 
by  Learning  and  all  kinds  of  Virtue.  To  him  your 
Letter  seemed  a  Miracle,  even  before  he  was  made 
aware  how  you  were  beset  by  shortness  of  Time 
and  other  Molestations  ;  and  hardly  could  he  believe 
that  you  had  had  no  Help  from  your  Master,  till  I 
told  him  seriously  that  you  had  not  only  no  Master 
in  the  House,  but  that  also  there  was  no  Man  in  it 
that  had  not  more  need  of  your  Help  in  writing 
than  you  of  his." 

Praise  like  this  would  stimulate  a  Mind  like 
Margaret's  rather  than  inflate  it  with  empty  Vanity  ; 
he  knew  with  whom  he  had  to  do.  "  I  pray  thee, 
Meg,"  he  elsewhere  says,  "  to  let  me  kDow  whal 


Appendix .  2tf 

your  Studies  just  now  are  ;  for  1  declare  to  you 
that  rather  than  suffer  my  Children  to  lose  Ground, 
1  would  myself  continue  your  Education  to  the  loss 
of  my  worldly  Estate,  and  the  neglect  of  all  other 
Cares  and  Businesses."  I  will  pass  over,  my 
sweetest  Daughter,  the  delight  your  Letter  gave 
me,  to  acquaint  you  with  the  Impression  it  made 
on  a  perfect  Stranger.  It  happened,  this  Evening, 
that  I  was  sitting  with  the  Bishop  of  Exeter,  a 
learned  Man,  and  by  general  Consent  allowed  to 
be  a  sincere  Man.  Happening  to  take  out  of  my 
Pocket  a  Paper  which  was  to  the  Purpose  we  were 
talking  of,  I  by  chance  pulled  out  therewith  your 
Letter.  The  Handwriting  pleasing  him,  he  drew 
it  from  me,  and  looked  at  it,  when  perceiving  the 
Salutation  to  be  a  Woman's,  he  began  eagerly  to 
peruse  it,  Novelty  inviting  him  thereunto.  But 
when  he  had  finished  it,  and  found  it  was  your 
Writing,  which  he  could  not  credit  till  I  had  se- 
riously affirmed  it — why  should  I  not  report  what 
he  said  upon  it  ?  Such  a  Letter  !  so  good  a  Style  ! 
such  pure  Latin  !  so  eloquent !  so  full  of  sweet 
Affection ! — he  was  marvellously  taken  with  it. 
When  I  perceived  this,  I  brought  forth  an  Oration 
of  yours,  and  also  some  of  your  little  Verses,  which 
so  pleased  him,  that  every  Look  and  Gesture  of 
the  Man,  quite  free  from  Exaggeration  and  Flat- 
tery, bewrayed  that  his  Thoughts  were  more  than 
Words  could  utter,  though  his  Words,  too,  were  to 
your  great  Praise  ;  and  forthwith  he  took  from  his 
Pocket  a  Portugal  Piece,  which  I  shall  take  car« 


24S  Appendix. 

to  inclose  you  herewith.  I  could  not  possibly  shun 
the  taking  it,  as  he  must  needs  send  it  to  you  in 
token  of  his  dear  Affection,  though  by  all  means  I 
endeavoured  to  prevail  on  him  to  take  it  again,  for 
I  was  afeard  lest  he  should  think  I  had  contrived 
the  Accident  on  purpose,  and  therefore  I  would  not 
show  him  any  of  your  Sisters'  Letters,  lest  he 
should  send  them  Presents  too ;  but  I  thought 
within  myself,  it  is  doubtless  a  Pleasure  to  gratify 
the  good  Man  in  this.  Write  carefully  to  him, 
therefore,  and  express  your  good  Thanks." 

The  Oration  was,  we  believe,  in  answer  to  Quin- 
tilian,  and  she  also  translated  Eusebius  out  of 
Greek.  The  good  Bishop  would  hardly  have  sent 
a  Portugal  Piece  to  a  Girl  who  was  not  of  very 
tender  Age,  and  yet  More  addresses  her  as  a 
Woman,  and  a  Woman  of  sense.  In  nothing, 
perhaps,  are  the  Discrimination  and  Genius  of 
Parents  more  discernible  than  in  their  knowing 
whom,  and  what,  and  how  much  they  should 
encourage  or  repress.  To  show  his  Daughter's 
Letters,  and  tell  her  of  the  Encomiums  they 
received,  was  the  Act  either  of  a  brave  or  a  foolish 
Father.  Nobody  could  call  More  foolish.  There 
was  such  a  singular  Happiness  in  his  Treatment 
of  those  around  him  that  not  one  of  even  the  infe- 
rior Members  of  his  numerous  Household  turned 
out  ill,  and  even  his  homely  Wife's  rugged  Temper 
was  charmed  from  its  Asperity,  though  he  would 
laughingly  tell  her  she  was  Penny  wise  and  Pound 
foolish  saving  a  Candle's  End,  and  spoiling  a  Ve'vet 


Appendix.  249 

Gown.  "Tilley- valley,"  she  would  reply  to  him, 
"  here  sit  you  making  Goslings  in  the  Ashes.  My 
Mother  would  often  say  to  me,  Better  rule  than  be 
ruled." 

"Truly  then,  good  Alice"  was  his  Retort,  "you 
better  her  Teaching,  for  I  never  found  you  willing 
to  be  ruled  yet.  Are  you  not  a  jolly  Master- 
woman  ? " 

It  was  one  of  his  Sayings,  that  Souls  in  a  sepa- 
rate State  would  think  as  meanly  of  the  Bags  of 
Gold  they  had  hoarded  in  their  Lifetime,  as  a  Man 
advanced  in  years  would  think  of  a  Bag  of  Cherry- 
stones which  he  had  hoarded  when  a  Child. 

When  he  saw  any  of  the  young  Men  of  his 
Household  dressing  themselves  fine  in  some  un- 
easy Fashion,  or  stroking  up  their  Hair  to  make 
themselves  high  Foreheads,  he  would  coolly  tell 
them  that  if  God  gave  them  not  Hell  he  would  do 
fhem  great  Injustice,  for  they  were  taking  far  more 
Pains  to  win  it  and  to  please  the  Devil  than  many 
even  virtuous  Men  did  to  win  Heaven  and  please 
God 

Another  of  his  Sayings  was,  that  God  could  not 
punish  Man  worse  than  if  he  should  suffer  every- 
thing to  happen  that  every  Man  wished  for.  "  Not 
onlv,''  said  he,  "doth  Pleasure  withdraw  wicked 
Men  from  Prayer,  but  Affliction  doth  the  same 
sometimes.  Yet  there  is  this  difference,  that  Afflic- 
tion doth  sometimes  wrest  a  short  Prayer  from  the 
wickedest  Man  alive  ;  but  Pleasure  withdrawetb 
even  one  that  is  indifferent  good  from  all  prayer." 


250  Appendix. 

The  public  conduct  of  Afore  as  Chancellor  is  too 
well  known  here  to  need  repetition.  The  death  of 
his  Father  brought  him  a  very  small  addition  to  his 
Estate,  and  Sir  John  Afore  s  House  and  Lands  at 
Gubbins,  in  Hertfordshire,  were  settled  on  his  last 
Wife  for  her  life,  and  she  survived  the  Chancellor. 
Sir  Thomas  has  left  it,  under  his  own  Hand,  that 
the  Amount  of  all  his  Revenues  and  Pensions, 
except  what  had  been  granted  by  Letters  Patent  of 
the  King's  Liberality,  viz.,  the  Manors  of  Ducking- 
ton,  Frinchford,  and  Barley  Park,  did  not  exceed 
fifty  Pounds  a  Year  :  a  rare  Saying  for  one  who 
had  gone  through  so  many  public  Offices  !  A  Sub- 
scription of  a  thousand  Pounds  was  made  by  the 
Bishops  and  Clergy,  and  offered  to  him  in  testi- 
mony of  their  Thankfulness  to  him  for  his  polemical 
Writings  ;  but  he  would  in  no  wise  accept  it,  nor 
permit  it  to  be  settled  on  his  Wife  or  Children, 
saying  he  would  sooner  see  it  cast  into  the  Thames. 

Having  resigned  the  Great  Seal  he  never  busied 
himself  in  public  Matters  any  more,  but  devoted 
the  Interval  that  elapsed  before  his  refusing  the 
Oath  of  Supremacy,  to  Study,  Prayer,  and  the 
preparation  of  his  Mind  for  its  approaching  Con- 
flict. He  diminished  his  Establishment,  finding 
other  services  for  his  Men,  and  disposing  of  his 
Children  in  Homes  of  their  own.  As  he  lay  wake- 
fully  on  his  Pillow,  his  Wife  was  often  aware  that 
he  was  passing  the  long  Hours  of  the  Night  in 
Prayers  and  Tears,  instead  of  in  Sleeping.  The 
Strength  which  he  needed,  however,  he  obtained  foi 


Appendix.  2  5  J 

the  Seeking,  for  when  the  time  of  Action  came  we 
never  find  him  betraying  the  slightest  Token  of  va- 
cillation. On  being  summoned  to  Lambeth,  to  take 
the  Oath,  he  requested  to  see  the  Form,  which, 
when  he  had  attentively  read,  he  said  that  he  would 
neither  find  fault  with  its  Authors,  nor  would  blame 
any  Man  that  took  it,  but  that,  for  his  own  part,  he 
felt  that  he  would  not  do  so  without  Danger  to  his 
Soul.  He  was  committed  to  the  custody  of  the  Abbot 
of  Westminster  for  a  few  Days,  during  which  time 
the  Kim:  took  it  into  orivate  Deliberation  how  he 
should  deal  with  his  old  Servant,  and  was  inclined 
to  let  him  off  on  his  swearing  not  to  divulge  to  any 
one  whether  he  had  taken  the  Oath  of  Supremacy 
or  no  ;  but  the  Enmity  of  the  Queen  caused  this 
merciful  Design  to  be  abandoned,  and,  on  the  Oath 
being  again  tendered,  and  again  declined,  he  was 
committed  to  the  Tower.  As  he  went  thither,  Sir 
Richard  Wingjield.  who  had  him  in  charge,  observ- 
ing that  he  wore  a  Gold  Chain  about  his  Neck, 
recommended  him  to  take  it  off,  and  send  it  Home 
by  some  private  Hand  to  his  Family ;  but  he  calmly 
replied,  "Nay.  sir,  that  will  I  not,  for  if  I  were 
taken  in  the  Field  by  mine  Enemies,  I  would  they 
should  fare  somewhat  the  better  for  me." 

According  to  his  Great-grandson,  to  whose  Tes- 
timony we  may  or  may  not  accord  implicit  Faith, 
More  was  tempted  even  by  his  beloved  Margarei 
to  yield  his  Conscience  to  the  Dictates  of  Expedi- 
ency, but  to  this  he  hearkened,  no,  not  for  a  Mo- 
ment;  saying,  that  "for  the  last  seven  Years  he 


252  Appendix. 

had  been  diligently  reading  over  all  the  Fathers, 
who,  with  one  Consent,  supported  the  Pope's  Su- 
premacy, and  he  saw  not  how  one  Men.ber  of  the 
Church,  as  England  was,  could  lawfully  withdraw 
itself  from  the  whole  Body."  Here  we  find  the 
wise  More  arguing  on  false  Premises,  and  adjudg- 
ing the  Church  of  Rome  to  be  the  Church  of  Christ, 
instead  of  one  Member  of  it,  as  much  so  as  the 
Church  of  England.  But  a  conscientious  Roman 
Catholic  could  hold  no  other  Doctrine  ;  and,  while 
differing  from  him  in  Judgment,  we  cannot  withhold 
our  Admiration  from  the  marvellous  Constancy 
with  which  he  supported  a  Point  of  Conscience. 
Henry  the  Eighth  did  more  harm  to  the  Cause  of 
the  Reformation  by  beheading  More  than  by  wr' 
ing  against  Luther,  for  he  furnished  the  Church  o. 
Rome  with  her  purest  Martyr. 

The  only  Moment  when  his  steadfast  Composure 
was  almost  overcome,  was  when  Margaret  Roper 
rushed  into  his  Arms  on  his  Return  to  the  Tower 
after  his  Condemnation  : — 

"  Oh,  what  a  Spectacle  was  'this  !  "  exclaims  his 
Grandson,  "  to  see  a  Woman  of  Nature  shamefast, 
by  Education  modest,  to  express  such  excessive 
Grief  as  that  Love  should  make  her  shake  off  all 
Fear  and  Shame  ;  which  dolefulle  Sight,  piercing 
the  Hearts  of  all  Beholders,  how  do  you  suppose  it 
must  have  moved  her  Father's  ?  Surely,  his  Affec- 
tion and  forcible  Love  would  have  daunted  his 
Courage,  if  that  a  divine  Spirit  of  Constancy  had 
not   enabled   him   to   behold   this   most  generous 


Appendix.  253 

Woman,  this  most  worthy  Daughter,  endowed  with 
all  good  Gifts  of  Nature,  all  Sparks  of  Piety,  which 
are  wont  to  be  most  acceptable  to  a  loving  Parent, 
pressing  unto  him  at  such  a  Time  and  Place,  where 
no  vian  could  have  had  access,  hanging  about  his 
Neck  before  he  was  aware  of  her,  holding  so  fast 
by  him  as  she  could  scarce  be  plucked  off,  not 
uttering  any  other  Words  than  '  Oh  !  my  Father  ! ' 
What  a  Sword  was  this  to  his  Heart!  and  at  last, 
being  drawn  away  by  force,  to  run  upon  him  again 
without  any  regard  either  of  the  Weapons  where- 
with he  was  compassed,  or  of  the  Modesty  becoming 
her  own  Sex  !  What  Comfort  did  he  want !  what 
Courage  did  he  then  stand  in  Need  of!  and  yet  he 
resisted  all  this  most  courageously,  remitting  nothing 
of  his  steadie  Gravitie,  speaking  only  what  we  have 
recited  before,  and  desiring  her  to  pray  for  him." 

It  seems  that,  when  the  unhappy  Daughter  was 
borne  off.  Margaret  Ciggs,  incited  by  her  Example, 
rushed  forward  also  into  Mere's  Arms,  and  received 
a  last  Embrace.  After  this  tragic  Scene,  there  is  a 
little  Bathos  in  the  like  approach  of  Dorothy  Collie, 
a  poor,  humble  Servant  Maid,  who  loved  her 
Master  well  in  her  simple  way,  and  must  needs 
kiss  his  Hand,  and  of  whose  demonstrative  Attach- 
ment he  afterwards  said,  with  a  benignant  Smile, 
that  it  was  very  homely  but  very  lovingly  done. 
Perhaps  this  little  Incident,  artless  and  unlooked 
for  as  it  was,  had  the  good  effecl  of  withdrawing 
his  Soul  for  a  few  Moments  from  the  anguish  of 
parting  from  his  Child. 


2  5  4     •  Appendix. 

Morc's  Wife  was  turned  out  of  her  House  al 
Chelsea  immediately  after  his  Execution,  and  al» 
her  Goods  were  taken  from  her,  "the  King  allotting 
her  of  his  Mercy,"  says  her  Descendant,  "  a  Pen- 
sion of  twenty  Pounds  by  the  Year :  a  poor  Al- 
lowance to  maintain  a  Chancellor's  Lady." 

The  manner  of  Margarefs  possessing  herself  of 
her  Father's  Head  has  been  variously  told,  and  it 
is  not  the  only  Incident  connected  with  his  sad 
End  which  his  Friends,  not  superior  to  the  Super- 
stition of  the  Time,  dressed  up  with  Additions  ap- 
proaching to  the  supernatural*     The  Partizans  of 

*  A  Writer  in  the  "  Gentleman 's  Magazine "  for  May,  1837, 
says  : — 

"  In  the  Chancel  of  the  Church  (St.  Dunslan's,  Canterbury)  is  3 
Vault  belonging  to  that  Family  (the  Ropers'),  which,  in  newly  paving 
the  Chancel  in  1835,  was  accidentally  opened  ;  and,  wishing  to  ascer- 
tain whether  Sir  7'nomas  More's  Skull  were  really  there,  I  went  down 
into  the  Vault,  and  found  it  still  remaining  in  the  piace  where  it  was 
seen  many  Years  ago, — in  a  Niche  in  the  Wall,  in  a  leaden  Box  some- 
thing of  the  Shape  of  a  Bee-hive,  open  in  the  front,  and  with  an  iron 
Grating  before  it.*  In  this  Vault  were  five  Coffins,  some  of  them 
belonging  to  the  Henshaw  Family  :  one,  much  decayed,  with  no  In- 
scription to  be  traced  cm  it. 

"  Opposite  these  Tombs  is  a  beautiful  Monument,  erected  by  a 
Grandson  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  sacred,  as  he  calls  it,  '  Pietati  et  Pa- 
rentibus.'  It  has  lately  been  cleansed  from  the  Dust  and  Cobwebs 
of  Ages,  and  now  stands  forth  in  all  its  former  chaste  and  simple 
Beauty." 

The  Writer  proceeds  to  wish  that,  in  these  Days  of  Restoration, 
the  eastern  Window  of  the  Chancel  might  be  ornamented  with  a 
Copy  of  Holbein's  Likeness  of  Sir  T/iomas  More,  and  the  Side- lights 
be  filled  with  the  Coats  of  Arms  of  the  different  Branches  of  th« 
Family. 

*  This  Communication  is  enriched  with  a  Woodcut  representing 
the  Skull  in  a  kind  of  Helmet,  portrayed  with  painf'jl  fidelity. 


Appendix.  255 

a  great  and  good  Man  betray  a  want  of  Faith  in  his 
imperishable  Qualities,  when  they  seek  to  hasten 
and  enhance  his  Fame  by  fabulous  Marvels. 

The  following  is  part  of  the  Epitaph  referred  to  : — 
"  Sacrum  Pietati  et  Parentibus  " 
"  Thomas  Rooper,  .  .  Thomce  Mori .  .  .  ex  filia  Margareta  Nepoi. " 
"  Quid  caro,  quid  sanguis,  quid  pulvis  et  umbra  superbis  t 

Quid  Itsiare  miser,  vermibus  esca  satis  t 

Qui  mundum  immuudum  capias  captaberis  ipse, 

Et  qui  cuxfla  ciipis  te  brevis  urna  capit. 

Pauca  potest  vivo  mundus  solatia  ferre, 

Nulla-jue  post  mortem  commoda,  damna  potest. 

Quo;  duvinatit  fugias,  animam  sic  instrue  vivens 

Vivat  in  Ctelis  sponsa  beala  Deo. 

Moriuus  htec  moneo  moriturum  :  perge,  memorqve 

Esto  mete  mortis,  sed  mag  is  esse  tua>." 
My  Friend,  Mrs.  George  Frederick  Young,  who  was  bom  in  th« 
Ropers'  House  at  Canterbury,  tells  me  that  it  was  of  singular  Anti- 
quity, full  of  queer  Nooks,  Corners  and  Passages,  with  a  sort  of 
Dungeon  below,  that  went  by  the  Name  of  Dick's  Hole,  the  access  to 
which  was  so  dangerous,  that  it  at  length  was  forbidden  to  descend  the 
Staircase.  The  Coach-house  and  Harness-room  were  curiously  an- 
tique ;  the  Chapel  had  been  converted  into  a  Laundry,  but  retained  its 
Gothic  Windows.  At  length  it  became  needful  to  rebuild  the  House, 
only  the  old  Gateway  of  which  remains.  While  the  Workmen  were 
busy,  an  old  Gentleman  in  Canterbury  sent  to  beg  Mrs.  Young's  Fa- 
ther to  dig  in  a  particular  part  of  the  Garden,  for  that  he  had  dreamed 
there  was  a  Money-chest  there.  This  Request  was  not  attended  to,  and 
he  sent  a  more  urgent  Message,  saying  his  Dream  had  been  repeated. 
A  third  time  he  dreamed  and  renewed  his  Request,  which  at  length 
was  granted  ;  and,  curiously  enough,  a  Chest  was  found,  with  a  few 
Coins  in  it,  chiefly  of  antiquarian  value,  which,  accordingly,  were  given 
to  an  archaeologist  of  the  place.     Here  my  Information  ceases. 

I  will  here  add,  once  for  all,  that  I  have  always  been  perfectly 
aware  my  pseudo  ancient  Orthography  has  not  been  invariably  such 
—had  it  been,  it  would  have  wearied  the  Reader  past  endurance  1  I 
have  preferred  giving  only  enough  of  it  to  have  "  no  incongruity  nw 
unnatural  strangeness." 


256  Appendix. 

And  yet  I  must  wind  up  with  a  Ghost  Story 
most  unexpectedly  borne  testimony  to  since  writ- 
ing the  last  paiagraph.  Near  Ewhurst,  in  Surrey, 
»s  a  very  old,  secluded,  beautiful  Country  Seat,  built 
in  the  Elizabethan  Style,  of  red  Brick,  and  called 
Banyards.  It  is  at,  present  in  the  occupation  of  a 
venerable  Clergyman  and  Magistrate.  This  Man- 
sion, in  the  Time  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  was  the 
Residence  of  Sir  Edward  Bray,  who  was  Con- 
stable of  the  Tower  in  the  Year  1539,  and  whose 
Son  married  Elizabeth,  the  Daughter  of  Margaret 
and  William  Roper.  Here,  then,  Margaret  may 
probably  have  visited  her  Daughter;  and,  as  she 
seems  to  have  kept  jealous  ward  over  the  Coffer  con- 
taining her  Father's  Head  till  the  Day  of  her  Death, 
when  it  was  buried  in  the  Ropers'  Vault,  in  St. 
Dunstaii's  Church,  Canterbury,  the  knowledge  of 
her  possession  of  so  Ghastly  a  Relic  may  easily 
have  given  rise  to  a  Report  among  the  poor  Peo- 
ple of  the  Neighbourhood,  that  a  restless  Ghost 
haunted  the  long  Gallery  of  Banyards.  The  Facts 
connected  with  the  Legend  have  died  away ;  the 
belief  in  the  Ghost  remains.  While  writing  the 
above,  I  asked  a  Country-girl  from  Ewhurst,  who 
happened  to  come  into  the  room,  if  she  knew 
Banyards.  She  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  her  Father  used 
to  work  there  ;  it  was  a  beautiful  old  place."  "  Had 
she  ever  heard  of  its  being  haunted?"  "Yes; 
there  were  strange  Noises  frequently  to  be  heard 
in  the  long  Gallery,  as  of  Men  playing  at  Bowls ; 
and — she  did  not  know  whether  it  were  quite  rijjht 


Appendix.  257 

to  talk  of  such  Things — but  a  Man  still  living,  she 
believed,  and  still  working  on  the  Grounds,  had 
once  kept  Watch  in  the  House,  all  alone,  and  on 
looking  through  the  Keyhole  of  the  Gallery  Door, 
had  seen  a  Figure,  white  as  Wool,  pacing  up  and 
down,  which  melted  away  the  Moment  he  opened 
the  Door."  Furthermore,  she  did  not  believe 
much  in  Ghosts,  and  thought  the  House  had  of 
late  Years  been  quite  Quiet.  There  is  a  Distinc- 
tion between  authenticating  a  Ghost  and  a  Ghost 
Story.  Of  all  the  Spirits  that  in  English  History 
have  walked,  there  are  few  with  whom  one  would 
more  gladly  have  an  hour's  Colloquy  than  with 
that  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 

"  If  from  the  Cerements  of  the  silent  Dead 
Our  long  departed  Friends  could  rise  anew. 
Why  feel  a  horror,  or  conceive  a  dread, 
To  see  again  those  Friends  whom  once  we  knew  t 

"  Oh  !  if  the  flinty  Prison  of  the  Grave 
Can  loose  its  Doors  and  let  the  Spirit  free, 
Why  not  return  the  Wise,  the  fust,  the  Brave, 
A  nd  set  once  more  Hie  Pride  of  Ages  fret  f  ' 


FIMIS. 


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